1  Y  \v? 

HOUSE 


FRANCIS 
NE1LSON 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 


By 

FRANCIS  NEILSON 


Author  of 

MADAME    BOHEMIA,    A   BUTTERFLY   ON  THE   WHEEL 
HOW   DIPLOMATS    MAKE   WAR,    ETC. 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1916 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


PRESS  or 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

PRINTERS  AND  BOOKBINDERS 

BROOKLYN.  N.  Y. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  Right  Honorable  Sir  Alfred  Horton-Birkett, 
M.  P.,  began  his  commercial  career  in  the  office 
of  an  old  firm  of  chandlers  in  Wapping.  His  parents 
were  poor  hard-working  non-conformists  who  had 
hoped  Alfred  would  go  into  the  ministry  of  Christ. 
Their  hopes  were,  however,  not  realized,  for,  although 
Alfred  was  a  good  chapel-goer  and  attended  Sunday- 
school  regularly,  he  longed  for  material  success  in  a 
business  where  there  was  a  chance  to  rise.  "Give  me 
a  chance  to  rise,"  was  Alfred's  reply  to  his  father  and 
mother  when  they  urged  him  to  keep  his  eye  on  the 
pulpit. 

When  he  took  root  in  the  office  of  Meek  Brothers, 
Chandlers,  he  was  a  bright  youth  of  sixteen.  After 
a  year  or  two  he  put  new  life  into  the  old  business, 
and  by  branching  off  into  oil  and  coal,  he  rapidly 
turned  a  decaying  industry,  conducted  by  two  dear  old 
fossils,  into  a  progressive  concern.  Alfred  made  head- 
way quickly,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty-three  he  took 
himself  into  the  firm. 

During  those  years  his  mind  was  not  given  up  en- 
tirely to  oil  and  coal.  He  clung  to  the  chapel,  and  one 
day  discovered  that  he  could  preach  a  better  sermon 
than  the  parson.  To  the  joy  of  his  parents,  he  found 
the  sound  of  his  own  clear  voice  so  pleasant,  he  took 

1 


2  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

every  opportunity  to  hear  it,  and  after  a  while  he 
added  regular  lay-preaching  to  his  accomplishments. 
It  was  only  a  step  from  the  pulpit  to  the  platform,  so 
when  an  election  threw  Wapping  into  the  toils  of 
political  warfare,  Alfred  mounted  the  hustings  and 
tasted  a  new  joy:  that  of  the  Radical  orator. 

What  a  Radical  he  was  in  those  days !  In  the  days 
before  he  put  a  hyphen  between  his  mother's  name, 
Horton,  and  his  father's  name,  Birkett.  The  Cobbett 
Radical  Club  would  have  no  one  else  for  president  in 
the  seventies.  And  the  local  paper,  in  an  editorial, 
predicted  a  great  career  for  him,  rather  subtly  hint- 
ing at  high  office,  if  he  ever  found  time  to  go  into  the 
House.  But  Alfred  stuck  to  oil  and  coal  until  he  was 
past  thirty-five.  He  had,  however,  amassed  enough  at 
thirty  to  ask  for  the  hand  of  the  fourth  daughter  of 
Sir  Evan  Willis,  the  unfortunate  knight  who  lost  a 
small  fortune  in  trying  to  start  that  railway  from 
Penrith  St.  Mary  to  Dartville  that  never  ran  a  train. 
Anyway,  Evelyn  Willis  was  a  knight's  daughter 
though  she  was  poor,  and  the  Willises  were  related 
to  prosperous  members  of  the  squirearchy.  Alfred  met 
her  at  a  bazaar  held  in  aid  of  the  local  Radical  associa- 
tion. The  question  of  Evelyn's  attachment  to  the  Estab- 
lished Church  was  easily  solved  by  Alfred,  who  let  no 
difficulty  mar  his  advancement  if  he  could  help  it,  by 
leaving  her  with  the  Anglicans  while  he  remained  with 
the  dissenters.  She  went  to  church  and  he  went  to 
chapel.  If  children  were  to  come  to  them  the  girls 
would  be  little  Anglicans  and  the  boys  little  non-con- 
formists. The  arrangement  worked  singularly  well. 
Even  when  the  great  question  of  Church  disestablish- 
ment raged  over  the  land,  Evelyn  took  to  her  pew  like 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  3 

a  duck  to  water,  while  Alfred  went  abroad  preaching 
sermons  that  threatened  to  bring  the  tower  of  Evelyn's 
church  tumbling  down  upon  her  head. 

Children  came  with  a  regularity  that  pleased  Alfred 
and  caused  Evelyn  little  apparent  discomfort.  Edward 
John,  followed  by  Ellen;  then  Harold,  Robert  and 
Frederick,  came  in  quick  succession.  There  was  then 
a  lapse  of  four  years.  Mary  Evelyn  then  came  and 
added  a  second  daughter  for  the  church;  and  then 
Alfred  Joseph,  who  lived  only  three  years. 

The  little  villa  at  Hampstead  into  which  Alfred 
took  his  bride  was  an  outgrown  shell  by  the  time  the 
fourth  child  arrived.  And  Alfred's  interests  grew  so 
rapidly,  his  businesses  prospered  so  abundantly,  he 
decided  that  his  next  move  should  be  into  the  heart 
of  the  country  where  he  might  do  the  honors  of  a 
solvent  squire.  When  the  estate  Crowington — that 
manor  and  all  those  lands,  including  a  living,  etc. — 
was  put  up  to  be  sold  as  a  whole  or  in  lots,  Alfred 
bought  it  and,  after  repairs  and  some  remodeling  of 
tht  fine  old  house,  he  left  Hampstead  forever.  Six 
thousand  acres  in  Sportshire,  and  squire  of  the  es- 
tate Crowington  was  an  achievement  any  Radical 
might  be  proud  of.  But  somehow  his  speeches  lost 
their  savor.  His  sermons  contained  the  old  salt,  but 
he  did  no  lay-preaching  anywhere  near  his  estate. 
Evie  was  not  to  blame  for  the  change.  True,  he  had 
risen  high  in  the  great  councils  of  non-conformity, 
and  he  was  looked  upon  as  a  very  rich  and  highly 
distinguished  dissenter,  but  Crowington  knew  little 
or  nothing  of  his  radical  views  and  sermons  on  dis- 
establishment. The  boys  went  to  a  famous  public 
school  and  a  university,  but  without  winning  I  schol- 


4  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

astic  distinction.  Harold,  in  some  strange  way,  be- 
came a  parson,  and  raised  hopes  in  his  mother's 
breast  that  he  would  some  day  be  vicar  of  the  parish 
of  Crowington.  Edward  John  went  into  the  army. 
Ellen  was  peculiar — she  was  studious,  and  got  in 
with  a  strange  set  at  Cambridge.  She  at  eighteen 
talked  of  living  her  own  life,  of  working  out  her  own 
salvation.  At  twenty  she  went  to  Dresden,  and  wrote 
home  infrequently,  then  only  for  comparatively  small 
sums  of  money.  She  became  a  musician,  and  said  in 
one  of  her  letters  she  meant  to  make  a  big  "bluff" 
soon  at  making  her  own  living.  The  sentiment  and 
slang  annoyed  her  mother,  but  Alfred  showed  not  the 
slightest  displeasure. 

After  he  was  comfortably  settled  as  a  squire,  Al- 
fred, who  had  subscribed  liberally  to  the  party  funds, 
was  offered  a  safe  seat  in  Parliament.  Humberton 
was  indeed  a  safe  Liberal  seat.  The  retiring  mem- 
ber, who  was  an  antiquarian  and  attended  the  House 
as  seldom  as  possible,  had  held  the  borough  for  ten 
years.  Alfred  accepted  the  gift,  and  though  he  had 
to  fight  for  the  constituency,  he  won  it  by  a  large  ma- 
jority. Though  his  oratory  was  not  of  the  rousing 
kind  which  Wapping  knew  in  his  early  days,  his 
purse  was  better  filled  and  his  check-book  handier. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  Alfred  when  Evie  kissed 
him  after  the  declaration  of  the  poll.  She,  undemon- 
strative as  a  rule,  showed  some  emotion  when  four 
lusty  puddlers  shouldered  her  husband  and  carried 
him  from  the  Town  Hall  to  the  Liberal  club.  It  was 
no  small  thing  for  them  to  do,  for  when  Alfred  stood 
beside  the  mayor,  on  the  declaration  of  the  poll,  he 
was  a  man  of  some  weight.  Not  tall,  but  portly;  a 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  5 

huge  back  falling  out  from  very  broad  shoulders 
which  supported  a  neck  and  head  of  bullish  appear- 
ance. The  face  was  heavy,  it  hung  forward  and  gave 
the  back  line  from  his  crown  to  his  waist  a  bent  and 
lowering  look.  His  thick  stocky  legs  moved  without 
any  perceptible  action  from  his  knees;  his  feet 
slithered  a  bit,  and  his  toes  moved  inward,  jerkily, 
as  he  walked.  Sixteen  stones,  twelve  pounds,  of 
solid  non-conformity;  the  corner-stone  layer  of  many 
a  chapel.  He  was  something  to  carry,  and  only 
electioneering  enthusiasm  could  prompt  four  lusty 
puddlers  to  attempt  such  a  feat.  They  drank  im- 
moderately after  they  were  rid  of  their  load. 

Fortune,  however,  carried  Alfred  through  his  busi- 
ness career  as  lightly  as  if  he  were  gossamer.  Some 
good  investments  in  shipbuilding  yards  and  steel 
works  brought  him  big  returns  and,  shortly  after 
he  entered  Parliament,  he  took  a  deep  financial  in- 
terest in  those  firms  which  cater  to  the  Admiralty 
and  the  army.  Before  the  Boer  War,  Britain  had 
not  been  engaged  in  very  large  military  or  naval  op- 
erations since  the  Crimea,  and  though  sanguinary 
patriotism  was  fostered  by  a  few  writers  and  speakers, 
who  had  to  provide  for  themselves  and  their  families 
by  earning  something  somehow  or  another,  there 
was  no  particular  dread  of  invasion.  In  those  days 
Mr.  Chamberlain  looked  for  an  Anglo-Saxon  alliance 
which  would  include  Germany  and  the  United  States 
of  America.  France  was  then  a  danger  to  Britain. 
Fashoda  was  a  word  to  stir  certain  writers  to  their 
very  roots.  It  was  not  until  the  Boer  War  had  been 
in  progress  for  six  months  that  investments  in  in- 
dustries largely  devoted  to  the  making  of  munitions 


6  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

attracted  men  like  Alfred.  The  great  gun  makers, 
battleship  builders,  explosive  manufacturers,  and  food 
and  clothing  contractors  to  the  army  and  navy,  then 
suddenly  branched  out  and  subdued  Government  and 
people.  A  vast  organization  with  a  directorship 
largely  recruited  from  the  services  laid  the  taxpayers 
low  under  a  crushing  burden  of  armaments.  It  was 
an  international  organization.  There  was  no  foolish 
national  spirit  about  its  business  methods.  English 
money  raised  munition  works  in  Fumie  and  Spezzia 
as  impartially  as  it  did  in  Kronstadt  and  Toulon. 
English  shareholders  figured  in  German  lists  and 
Germans  held  stocks  in  a  number  of  French  concerns. 
It  was  an  international  movement  for  the  world's 
peace. 

Alfred  was  quick  to  realize  the  financial  importance 
of  the  matter,  and  Parliament  was  just  the  place,  for 
one  interested  in  international  amity  and  preparations 
for  war,  to  foster  the  proper  spirit.  An  armed  peace 
was  the  only  way  to  safeguard  the  interests  of  the 
workers,  and  if  dividends  resulted  from  financial  in- 
vestments in  armaments,  it  could  easily  be  proved 
God  was  on  the  side  of  the  right  and  always  looked 
after  the  monetary  returns  of  His  own. 

Small  parcels  of  shares  in  Sheffield  firms,  Clyde 
and  Tyneside  yards,  Alfred  bought  below  par — just 
to  assist  the  noble  movement  which  bore  the  text 
"the  best  way  to  keep  the  peace  is  to  prepare  for 
war."  When  the  Government  scrapped  over  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty  war  vessels,  some  of  which  had  only 
been  launched  three  years,  Alfred  bought  a  few  more 
blocks  of  shares  in  the  big  armament  concerns.  He 
always  seemed  to  get  in  on  the  ground  floor.  His  nose 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  7 

was  as  quick  to  scent  a  good  dividend  as  his  tongue 
was  ready  with  a  text. 

From  knighthood  to  a  baronetcy,  and  then  to  a 
privy  councilorship,  were  steps  in  political  and  social 
distinction  as  rapid  as  his  financial  progress.  He 
built  a  chapel  in  the  East  End  and  endowed  a  small 
home  for  feeble  non-conformist  parsons.  He  became 
president  of  the  council  of  his  denomination  and 
gave  large  sums  to  the  Church  through  the  bank  ac- 
count of  his  Anglican  wife.  He  was  the  founder 
and  organizer  of  the  Haigh  Shell  and  Bullet  Com- 
pany whose  shares  during  the  Boer  War  rose  to  six 
pounds,  fourteen  shillings  and  six  pence. 

At  the  meeting  of  delegates  at  the  great  peace  con- 
ference held  by  the  dissenters,  it  was  resolved  that 
Sir  Alfred  Horton-Birkett,  then  only  a  knight,  was 
a  benefactor  of  his  race  in  discovering  Haigh  shells 
and  bullets.  Surely  that  was  enough  to  convince 
any  doubting  Thomas.  At  any  rate  many  people 
began  to  look  upon  Sir  Alfred  as  a  "practical"  peace- 
man,  for  the  more  shells  and  bullets  his  firm  turned 
out,  the  more  foreign  friendships  Britain  made;  and 
when  Alfred  started  a  branch  factory  on  the  Rhine, 
near  Dusseldorf,  the  enthusiasm  of  those  share- 
holders who  were  the  friends  of  European  harmony 
knew  no  bounds.  Was  it  any  wonder  the  German 
Government  decorated  Alfred  and  the  British  Gov- 
ernment made  him  a  baronet?  No  one  was  so  firmly 
convinced  when  the  first  dreadnaught  was  built  and 
launched,  within  some  thirteen  months,  as  Alfred, 
that  the  bigger  the  battleship  the  less  chance  of  bat- 
tle. He  wrote  a  long  letter  to  the  Times,  under  a 
text  from  Job,  explaining  the  impossibility  of  war 


8  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

if  the  Government  would  build  eight  dreadnaughts  a 
year  for  twenty  years.  The  suggestion  met  with  the 
approval  of  nearly  all  the  cautious  journals  of  the 
two  historic  parties.  One  great  London  journal 
said  the  Government  should  borrow  one  hundred  mil- 
lion pounds  to  start  Alfred's  scheme.  For  some 
pusillanimous  reason  the  Government  did  not  adopt 
the  suggestion,  but  shortly  after  the  great  contro- 
versy petered  out,  Alfred  was  asked  to  join  His  Ma- 
jesty's Privy  Council.  This  he  did  with  that  hu- 
mility which  sat  so  well  upon  a  benefactor  of  the 
race. 

It  was  in  1908  when  Horton  House  was  built, 
just  off  Park  Lane,  on  the  site  of  the  town  house  of 
the  extinct  Dukedom  of  Severn.  So  fine  a  house 
had  not  been  built  in  that  neighborhood  since  the 
days  when  South  African  patriots  moved  into  the 
palaces  of  England's  owners.  The  house  seemed  to 
anticipate  a  peerage.  Some  one  said  you  only  had 
to  look  at  it  to  see  it  stand  up  and  ask  for  it.  That 
cynical  person  was  wrong,  however,  for  neither  Al- 
fred nor  his  property  asked  for  any  such  tiling.  Lady 
Horton-Birkett  might  have  made  suggestions  of  that 
kind,  but  only  in  the  interests  of  her  boys  and  girls. 
Alfred  never.  He  was  above  such  social  traffic.  And 
it  must  be  set  down  to  his  credit  that  every  check 
sent  to  the  party  funds  was  accompanied  by  a  letter 
saying  he  looked  for  no  political  or  social  advantage 
in  return  for  his  subscriptions.  He  did  not  look  for 
office — his  business  interests  were  too  great,  and  his 
directorships  too  many  and  too  lucrative  for  re- 
linquishment  in  return  for  a  paltry  salary.  He  was 
the  Right  Honorable  Sir  Alfred  Horton-Birkett,  Bart., 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  9 

M.  P.,  squire  of  Crowington,  patron  of  its  living,  and 
the  great  international  director  of  Haigh  shells  and 
bullets.  That  seemed  honor  enough  for  any  one  in 
the  British  political  and  social  world.  In  religion  he 
was  president  of  the  great  non-conformist  body  which 
had  counted  him  one  of  its  truest  and  worthiest  sons 
since  his  youth.  Art  knew  him  for  the  large  sums 
spent  by  his  agent,  the  art  critic  of  the  Pantheon, 
on  big  canvasses,  ancient  and  modern.  Music  found 
him  an  enthusiastic  supporter  of  oratorio  and  a  de- 
termined opponent  of  any  music  without  a  tune. 
In  literature,  he  boasted  first  editions  of  Kipling, 
and  other  poetic  builders  of  our  literary  empire.  His 
taste  in  daily  papers,  magazines  and  reviews  was 
catholic.  He  took  the  Hibbert  Journal  and  religiously 
abstained  from  reading  it.  The  National  Review  he 
devoured  every  month.  The  Nation  lay  on  the  li- 
brary table  at  Crowington,  unopened,  but  the  Satur- 
day Review  often  accompanied  him  on  a  railway 
journey. 

An  easy-going,  kindly  man  was  Alfred.  He  had 
no  real  enemies;  his  friends  were  legion.  His  life 
had  been  smooth;  success  had  come  his  way.  He 
was  satisfied.  In  Parliament  he  spoke  occasionally 
in  naval  debates;  always  with  that  deep  conviction 
that  the  Government  should  in  the  name  of  peace 
and  patriotism  prepare  for  war  as  the  best  means 
of  avoiding  a  conflict. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  June,  1914,  Crowington  was  at  its  best.  Sir 
Alfred  was  down  with  several  friends  for  a  long 
week-end.  Captain  Edward  found  time  to  leave  his 
regiment  for  a  day  or  two  to  be  present  at  the  open- 
ing of  the  institute  his  father  had  built  and  was  to 
present  to  the  village.  It  was  to  be  a  gala  week 
for  the  village;  the  school  treat,  the  sports  and  the 
opening  of  the  institute.  Harold,  who  was  now  vicar 
of  the  parish,  had  prevailed  on  the  bishop  to  run  over 
for  the  day;  delicately  suggesting  a  chat  with  his 
father  who  was  keenly  interested  in  the  bishop's 
fund  for  the  restoration  of  the  north  tower  of  the 
cathedral.  Crowington  had  not  known  in  the  mem- 
ory of  any  one  so  many  notabilities  in  the  parish  on 
one  day.  The  landed  gentry  who  knew  Lady  Hor- 
ton-Birkett  was  a  Willis  had  accepted  the  family, 
after  the  first  spasm  of  indignation  passed,  on  Crow- 
ington falling  into  the  hands  of  a  rich  dissenting 
baronet.  Harold,  too,  by  going  into  the  church, 
softened  the  blow;  and  the  young  bloods  of  the 
county  tolerated  the  indignity  when  they  learned 
Edward  John  was  in  the  Guards  and  Robert  in  the 
Lancers.  Lady  Horton-Birkett  had  done  wonders 
in  getting  around  the  women  of  the  shire,  and  Al- 
fred had  put  not  a  few  hard-pressed  squires  on  to 
some  sound,  financial  tilings.  Life  went  very  well 
there,  and  trouble  did  not  pass  down  the  road  which 
ran  through  Alfred's  domain. 

On  that  day  of  many  events  Alfred,  as  was  his 

10 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  11 

rule,  rose  early,  and  calling  a  dog,  an  old  spaniel, 
he  strolled  across  the  park  for  a  ramble  before  break- 
fast. On  Carrons'  Hill  he  stood  and  looked  back 
on  the  house.  There  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky. 
The  place  was  as  still  as  a  colored  photograph.  He 
was  proud  of  it,  proud  of  himself  and  proud  of 
England.  A  line  from  The  Village  Blacksmith 
ran  in  his  mind  about  something  attempted,  some- 
thing done  and  so  on.  He,  a  dissenter,  to  welcome 
a  bishop,  he,  a  Radical,  to  give  relief  to  a  dozen  Tory 
squires,  he,  a  man  of  poor  parentage,  to  be  squire  of 
Crowington!  He  nearly  stood  erect  for  the  first 
time  for  thirty  years  at  the  thought  of  it  all.  A 
smile  of  satisfaction  crept  across  the  bullish  face, 
and  spread  a  kindly  veil  over  its  grossness.  Every- 
thing was  all  right.  The  Government,  the  navy,  the 
army,  his  family,  and  his  own  aggressive  health,  were 
in  full  fettle. 

Save  Ellen!  Latterly  she  had  often  come  into 
his  mind.  She  had  written  from  Berlin  that  a 
singer  had  sung  two  of  her  songs  at  a  great  con- 
cert. But  on  consideration  Alfred  decided  she  must 
be  doing  well,  making  progress.  Her  demands 
for  money  became  more  and  more  infrequent.  He 
was  sure  she  would  ask  for  what  was  necessary 
to  keep  her  in  comfort.  Strangely  enough  she  had 
written  saying  it  was  not  expensive  to  live  a  musical 
life  in  Germany.  That  puzzled  the  Free  Trader  in 
Alfred,  upset  all  his  notions  of  Britain's  supremacy 
as  to  the  purchasing  power  of  money.  But  Ellen 
was  a  queer  girl — not  a  bit  like  her  mother,  and  no 
one  in  Alfred's  family  that  he  knew  of  could  have 
been  responsible  for  Ellen's  traits  and  characteristics. 


12  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Neither  Chapel  nor  Mammon  seemed  to  interest  her 
in  the  least. 

Returning  to  the  house  he  passed  a  level  mead 
staked  off  for  the  sports  where  the  village  athletes 
would  compete  that  afternoon  for  small  prizes.  It 
struck  him  how  curious  a  thing  it  was  that  youths 
should  day  after  day,  for  weeks,  train  to  run  a  race 
for  a  two-pound  clock  or  a  silver  medal.  The  prize 
seemed  to  him  inadequate  for  the  exertion.  Alfred 
had  never  run  after  the  athletic  prizes;  tennis, 
cricket  and  football  he  had  never  played.  The  prizes 
he  had  competed  for  required  little  muscular  strain. 
He  had  won  without  distressing  himself. 

That  afternoon  when  the  institute  had  been  form- 
ally opened,  and  the  bishop  had  given  the  benedic- 
tion, the  company  of  members  of  Parliament,  squires 
and  ladies,  followed  the  bishop,  the  vicar  and  Al- 
fred, back  to  the  house  to  see  the  sports.  There  in 
the  grounds  was  a  picture  of  merry  England.  The 
young  gentry  at  tennis,  the  yokels  running  races  and 
women  dancing  to  the  music  of  the  Minster  Silver 
Band.  Tea  was  served  in  the  open.  There  was  no 
need  for  a  marquee;  the  weather  was  perfect.  The 
captain  refereed  the  sports,  and  Harold  fired  the 
starter's  pistol.  Lord  George  Windlass,  the  Liberal 
Under- Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs,  distributed  the 
prizes.  Old  age  pensioners  sunned  themselves  on 
the  lawn,  and  the  children  of  the  Sunday-school 
tumbled  about  the  paddock,  under  the  fruit  trees, 
with  oranges  and  toys  in  an  orgy  of  joy.  Mary 
Evelyn  and  Lady  Horton-Birkett  were  in  attendance 
and  saw  they  had  plenty  of  milk  and  wholesome 
cakes.  The  whole  affair  was  done  in  lordly  fashion. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  13 

When  night  fell,  and  the  youngsters  were  taken 
off  to  bed,  the  village  grown-ups  danced  in  the  rosy 
twilight  to  the  band,  and  from  the  park  could  be  seen 
the  yellow  lights  of  the  dining-room  where  the  great 
folks  were  entertained  to  a  fine  dinner.  The  conver- 
sation at  the  table  was  perhaps  of  no  interest  to  the 
dancing  throng. 

Lord  George,  as  the  only  member  of  the  Ministry, 
sat  near  the  bishop  who  was  alarmed  at  the  reports 
from  Ireland. 

"Fight  us,  they  won't  fight,"  Windlass  scoffed. 
"There  might  be  a  big  row,  but  troops  won't  be  re- 
quired." 

"But  the  nationalist  volunteers,"  the  bishop  bleated. 

"A  Roland  for  an  Oliver — or  a  Redmond  for  a 
Carson — that's  all.  Don't  be  alarmed." 

"And  the  Curragh " 

Lord  George  cut  Lady  Horton-Birkett  off  with 
a  snort:  "That  was  playing  into  our  hands  with  a 
vengeance.  That  finished  'em." 

"My  son,  Robert,  is  in  the  Lancers." 

"Of  course,  I  had  forgotten.  But  he  wasn't  in  the 
strike,  was  he?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no,"  the  hostess  said.  "But  he  was  aw- 
fully upset.  Poor  Robert,  he  doesn't  like  the  look 
of  things." 

"Neither  do  I,  my  dear  lady,"  the  bishop  volun- 
teered. "I  don't  share  Lord  George's  optimism,  I 
can  assure  you.  Civil  war  in  Ireland!  Oh,  it  makes 
me  tremble  to  think  of  it." 

Mr.  Jennings,  the  butter-nut  king,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table,  was  earnestly  debating  the  labor 
(question  with  Evcrand  Fentress,  the  member  for 


14  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Kettington.  Mrs.  Harold  Horton-Birkett  sat  between 
them. 

"What  is  to  become  of  us,  I  don't  know,"  Jen- 
nings said.  "The  amalgamation  of  the  railway 
workers,  the  miners  and  the  transport  men  in  the 
spring,  will  be  an  awful  thing,  sir.  If  the  railway 
men  alone  could  bring  the  trade  of  the  country  to  a 
standstill,  and  then  the  miners  do  the  same  thing, 
what  on  earth  will  happen  when  they  with  the  trans- 
port men  all  strike  together?" 

"Don't  you  think  labor  will  learn  it  is  bad  busi- 
ness cutting  their  noses  off  to  spite  their  faces?" 
Fentress  suggested.  "I'm  not  afraid." 

"Ah,  pardon  me,  Mr.  Fentress,"  Jennings  said. 
"You  are  not  connected  with  industry.  You  are  an 
author  and  well-off,  besides " 

"But  like  you  I  am  solely  dependent  on  labor," 
Fentress  explained.  "I  have  to  eat,  wear  clothes 
and  inhabit  a  house." 

"True,  I  didn't  think  of  that.  But  I  don't  like*  the 
situation.  It  makes  me  very  uneasy,  sir.  Can't 
sleep  thinking  about  it,  blest  if  I  can." 

"Why  should  men  strike  when  they  have  families 
to  keep?"  Mrs.  Harold  asked. 

It  was  a  question  neither  Jennings  nor  Fentress 
could  answer  to  her  satisfaction.  Mrs.  Harold  was 
a  young  bride  and  not  familiar  with  labor  questions. 
She  was  reared  in  a  county  where  farm  laborers 
never  strike. 

All  round  the  table  the  vital  matters  of  the  day 
were  discussed.  Here,  disestablishment,  there,  the 
land  question.  The  great  men  of  affairs  were  torn 
into  shreds  and  put  together  again.  There  were  just 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  15 

enough  Liberals  present  to  save  the  Government  from 
annihilation.  The  ladies  did  not  enjoy  the  feast,  and 
the  men  did  not  really  get  a  chance  to  entertain  them. 
The  stress  and  strum  of  politics  absorbed  all  the 
males.  In  nearly  every  department  of  life  there 
seemed  to  be  deep  unrest.  It  was  as  if  England  that 
June  were  the  smiling  sides  of  a  volcano  ready  to 
burst  into  flame. 

Through  the  windows  the  strains  of  a  waltz  or 
quadrille  played  by  the  Minster  Silver  Band  floated 
in  on  the  night  breeze  which  had  sprung  up.  The 
laborers  and  young  farmers  out  there  did  not  dis- 
cuss Ireland,  or  labor,  or  land,  or  disestablishment. 
They  danced,  and  their  women  were  merry.  Merry 
for  a  gala-day — one  day  of  joy  taken  from  the  long 
toll  of  days  of  toil  and  anxiety.  Though  Alfred 
had  repaired  cottages,  built  some  new  ones,  and  he 
had  tried  to  brighten  their  lot  in  many  patriarchal 
ways,  most  of  the  agricultural  folk  of  Crowington 
were  only  British  farm  laborers  after  all.  Great 
political  problems  were  of  passing  interest  to  some 
of  them,  but  the  vast  majority  only  realized  their 
importance  when,  in  the  throes  of  an  election,  candi- 
dates drummed  the  issues  day  and  night  into  their 
tired  minds. 

After  dinner  Alfred  took  the  bishop  into  his  den. 
The  library  was  too  big,  too  cold,  too  grave,  for  the 
reading  and  writing  Alfred  had  to  do  in  the  country. 
The  den  was  snug  and  snoozy.  The  bishop  was  a  pipe 
man  and  liked  a  good  drop  of  scotch.  He  was  voted 
by  his  intimates  "a  jolly  good  sort."  The  den  was 
just  the  place  for  him.  After  explaining  his  pet 
scheme,  the  restoration  of  the  north  tower,  to  Al- 


16  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

fred,  the  great  dissenter  handed  him  a  check  which 
was  for  a  much  larger  amount  than  any  Anglican 
had  given  to  that  worthy  fund.  The  conversation 
naturally  took  a  turn  toward  other  building  schemes, 
and  the  bishop,  an  infant  at  commerce,  inquired  how 
great  fortunes  were  made.  He  had  never  been  able 
to  get  much  out  of  any  investment  his  solicitors  had 
recommended.  There  seemed  to  be  a  knack  about 
getting  into  something  good.  He  had  a  little  money 
laid  by,  no,  not  much,  a  few  hundreds,  he  wished  to 
invest  for  his  only  daughter,  a  rather  plain  lady  of 
thirty-five.  Could  Sir  Alfred  suggest  something.  He 
could. 

"We  are  forming  a  company  to  start  a  plant  for 
the  making  of  Haigh  shells  and  bullets  at  Oporto," 
Alfred  said  in  his  mildest  manner.  "You  might  think 
it  over.  The  peace  budgets  of  certain  Governments 
down  that  way  for  many  years  to  come  will  grow 
annually.  We  have  already  orders  enough  to  keep 
us  busy  for  five  years.  You  will — your  sister  will — " 

"My  daughter " 

"Of  course.  Your  daughter — pardon!  She  will 
get  at  least  ten  per  cent." 

"Ten!"  cried  the  bishop  in  amazement. 

"I  look  for  twenty." 

"And  you  will  let  me  place — ?"  the  bishop  smiled. 

"I  shall  be  delighted.  Please  keep  it  to  yourself, 
Bishop." 

"Of  course,  of  course,  my  dear   Sir  Alfred." 

The  founder  of  the  Haigh  shell  closed  his  hands, 
just  as  he  used  to  do  when  he  entered  the  pulpit 
and  gave  an  exhibition  of  silent  prayer  and  sighed 
wearily. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  17 

"You  see  we  are  obliged  to  give  our  companies 
a  national  appearance,"  he  said.  "I  dislike  deception 
of  all  kinds.  But  with  so  many  evil-minded  persons 
abroad,  around  about  us  I  mean,  we  must  be  cau- 
tious. This  factory  will  be  called  the  Oporto  Steel 
Construction  Company.  Really  we  shall  hold  eighty- 
five  per  cent,  of  the  stock  and  let  in  a  select  few  to  hold 
the  other  fifteen.  Our  German,  French,  Russian,  Aus- 
trian, Italian  and  Japanese  plants  are  firmly  estab- 
lished on  a  thriving  basis.  Our  boards  of  directors 
contain  some  of  the  world's  greatest  admirals  and 
generals.  So  we  have  the  very  best  expert  advice 
at  all  times.  Just  send  me  a  line  when  you  are 
ready." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear  Sir  Alfred,  I  am  deeply 
grateful — deeply,  I  assure  you." 

"Not  at  all,  Bishop,  I'm  glad  to  find  you  realize 
fully  the  tendency  of  the  times.  The  old  gospel  of 
Bright  and  Cobden  is  gone  forever.  Britain  must 
arm  to  keep  the  peace.  It  is  the  only  way.  An  armed 
peace  may  be  expensive,  but  money  wisely  spent  on 
insurance  is  never  wasted." 

Another  pipe,  and  another  whisky,  and  the  bishop 
went  up-stairs  to  join  his  sleepy  wife. 

In  his  mother's  room  Edward  John  lay  stretched 
on  the  sofa,  smoking  a  Russian  cigarette,  while  she 
tried  to  revive  the  bloom  of  other  years  by  smearing 
her  face  with  some  heavily  scented,  greasy-looking 
concoction. 

"Hurry  up,  mater." 

Edward  John  learned  to  call  her  mater  when  he 
was  a  little  boy  at  Hampstead  where  at  that  time 


18  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

mother  was  fast  supplanting  mama  with  the  lower 
classes. 

"Hurry  up,  mater.  I'm  devilish  tired.  What  d'you 
want  to  see  me  about?" 

"Ed,  dear,  have  you  and  Clarice  fixed  a  day  yet?" 
she  asked,  referring  to  the  coming  marriage  of  her 
son  to  Qarice  Peplowe  Clungford  of  Clungford  Hall. 

"No,  not  yet.  Well,  yes,  about  the  middle  of  Oc- 
tober, I  think.  Why?" 

"October?" 

"Yes.  Clarice  wants  to  wait  till  Billy  gets  back 
from  India.  Things  are  awkward  out  there.  Deuce 
of  a  lot  of  sedition,  and  his  regiment  won't  get  back 
now  before  the  end  of  September.  Rotten,  eh?" 

"Why  she  can't  be  married  without  her  brother — " 

"I  know.     But  she  likes  Billy.     Drunken  swine." 

"Ed!" 

"Sorry,  mater.    That's  what  he's  called." 

"Well,  I  s'pose  it  can't  be  helped,"  she  said,  re- 
ferring to  the  nuptial  delay.  "Now  listen,  dear. 
There's  one  thing  I  want  you  to  do  to-morrow.  It's 
not  often  you  get  a  chance  to  talk  to  dad.  Now 
you've  got  him,  just  put  in  a  word  about  the  Lords." 

Ed  sprang  from  the  sofa  and  pitched  his  cigarette 
end  into  the  fireplace.  There  he  leaned  on  the  man- 
tel and  gazed  into  the  large  cineraria  which  occu- 
pied the  grate. 

"Don't  be  obstinate,  Ed,"  she  pleaded.  "It  is  high 
time  the  P.  M.  did  something.  I  quite  expected  to 
see  dad  get  a  peerage  in  the  last  list.  You  know 
how  busy  he  is  and  apt  to  forget  these  things.  Be- 
sides, you  ought  to  look  after  your  own  interests. 
Do  poke  him  up  about  it.  This  Government  will 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  19 

only  have  two  more  honors'  lists,  and  you  know 
what  an  awful  crowd  there  is  to  get  things  before  a 
dissolution.  Hasn't  dad  earned  it?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  Ed  sighed.  "But  it's  a  beastly 
nuisance." 

"You  must  think  of  Clarice." 

"She  doesn't  care  any  more  for  that  kind  of  thing 
than  I  do.  Anyway,  I  mean  to  stick  to  the  army.  It's 
going  to  be  my  career." 

"But  a  barony  would  not  interfere  with  your 
soldiering." 

Ed  snorted  as  he  strode  toward  a  box  of  matches. 
He  puffed  for  a  moment  at  a  cigarette  and  gasped, 
"Father,  a  peer !" 

"I  thought  you  would  be  obstinate,"  his  mother 
put  in  testily.  "You  wouldn't  budge  once  you  got 
an  idea  into  your  head  when  you  were  a  boy.  You 
haven't  altered,  Ed." 

"All  right,  all  right,  mater,  if  you  have  your  heart 
set  on  it,  all  right,"  he  muttered,  as  he  paced  the 
room.  "To-morrow.  Well,  good  night." 

"That's  a  dear  boy." 

They  kissed  and  parted. 

Sunday  was  spent  quietly.  The  company  went  to 
church  to  hear  Harold  preach.  It  was  beautifully 
fine  and  warm.  Alfred  enjoyed  the  peace  and  plenty 
of  his  estate. 

The  next  day  was  June  twenty-ninth.  The  only 
news  in  the  paper  at  breakfast  of  any  particular  in- 
terest, apart  from  the  usual  political  questions,  was 
about  the  murder  of  an  Austrian  archduke. 

"Where's  Serajevo?"  Alfred  asked,  as  he  knocked 
the  top  off  his  egg. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  notabilities  left  Crowington  by  the  ten  forty- 
three  for  town.  Edward  John  drove  over  to 
Clungf  ord  to  see  Clarice.  His  chestnut  pounded  down 
the  hill  to  Press  Heath  under  a  canopy  of  splendid  oaks 
and  elms.  Edward  flicked  leaves  as  he  rattled  along, 
and  whistled  a  popular  tune.  At  the  crossroads  he  had 
to  pull  up  to  help  a  man  who  was  having  a  bad  time 
with  a  fractious  horse.  He  walked  the  chestnut 
toward  the  scene. 

"Hullo,  that  you,  Herbert?"  he  called,  as  he  recog- 
nized his  friend,  Count  Herbert  Von  Hoist. 

"Ed!  It's  you!"  the  count  returned.  "What  a 
mess.  A  partridge.  Right  under  his  nose.  Fine 
youngster,  isn't  he?  Deuced  angry  about  it.  Threw 
me  before  I  knew  where  I  was." 
r  The  company  of  Edward's  chestnut  soothed  the 
count's  horse. 

"Where  are  you  off  to?"  Herbert  asked. 

"To  Clungford.  Didn't  know  you  were  down 
here?" 

"Just  for  a  day  or  two.  I've  had  to  get  a  new 
man  to  look  after  my  gees.  Irish.  From  Tittle 
Shaunessey's  place.  I'm  on  my  way  to  Scotland 
yachting." 

"Take  the  gee  back  and  I'll  drive  you  over  to  see 
Clarice." 

"Can't,  dear  boy;  sorry.  I've  got  to  catch  the  two- 
nine.  When  is  it  coming  off,  Ed?" 

20 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  21 

^ 

"Middle  of  October.  Don't  forget.  Where'lt  you 
be  about  that  time?" 

Count  Herbert  thought  for  a  moment. 

"Shooting  in  Derbyshire.  Near  by.  I'll  be  with 
you  on  that  day." 

"A  best  man  is  as  a  rule,"  Edward  said. 

Von  Hoist  kept  his  mount  still  while  he  admired 
Ed's  horse.  He  said,  "That  chestnut  can  stand,  can't 
he?" 

"Yes.    Well,  if  I  can't  persuade  you.    Tol-lol." 

The  chestnut  passed  smoothly  into  its  stride  as 
Edward  looked  round  and  saw  the  count  mount  and 
ride  off  toward  his  hunting-box. 

Edward  and  the  count  met  at  the  university. 
They  were  soon  close  friends.  Both  riders  and  oars- 
men they  stuck  together.  It  was  Edward  who  per- 
suaded the  count  to  take  Wilmslow  Lodge,  a  roomy 
hunting-box  with  excellent  stables  only  four  miles 
from  Crowington.  They  had  been  neighbors  for  six 
years. 

Clarice  was  looking  out  for  Edward  as  he  turned 
into  the  drive  at  Clungford.  He  eased  the  mare  and 
she  was  up  in  a  moment  beside  him. 

"You're  late,  old  boy,"  she  said,  after  she  kissed 
him. 

"Met  Herbert  at  Press  Heath  having  a  dust  up 
with  a  young  hunter,"  he  explained. 

"Herbert.  Really!  I  didn't  know  he  was  down. 
It's  early  for  him,  isn't  it?  He  doesn't  get  to  Wilms- 
low as  a  rule  much  before  November." 

"Got  a  new  man.    On  his  way  north  for  yachting." 

"What's  he  think  of  the  murder?" 

"What  murder?" 


22  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"The  archduke." 

"Oh!  Don't  know." 

"Horrible,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes.  { Those  Servians  again,  wasn't  it?" 

"There's  mother,"  she  cried,  as  she  spied  a  small 
woman  limping  down  the  terrace  steps.  "Poor  old 
girl,  I  hope  she'll  be  all  right  for  this  season." 

Her  mother  had  missed  a  hunting  season  owing  to 
a  bad  toss  over  barbed  wire.  Her  leg  was  badly 
wrenched. 

"Well,  Ed,  my  boy,"  Lady  Qungford  cried,  as  the 
captain  threw  the  reins  to  the  groom.  "Excuse  my 
gammy  leg.  A  bit  of  crock  yet.  How  goes  it?" 

"All  right.  Dad  had  a  mixed  lot  over  the  week- 
end. The  bishop.  Oh,  and— you  know  dad's  crowd. 
Windlass  was  there.  Mother  sent  her  love." 

Lady  Clungford  was  a  widow,  her  husband  died  of 
pneumonia  in  Africa,  after  chasing  De  Wet  for  six 
months.  He  was  a  good  soldier,  and  left  his  family 
well-off.  Billy,  the  present  lord,  took  after  his  grand- 
father and  did  some  soldiering  between  drinks. 
Freddy,  the  other  son,  was  something  permanent  in  the 
Foreign  Office.  Then  there  was  Clarice.  She  was  a 
handsome  girl.  Nearly  all  her  life  had  been  spent 
in  her  native  hunting  county.  Save  for  a  month  in 
London,  when  she  was  presented,  and  holidays  spent 
in  Ireland  with  her  aunt,  the  Dowager  Marchioness 
of  Kilkee,  she  knew  very  little  of  the  world  be- 
yond the  kingdom.  Her  grandmother  left  her  eighty 
thousand  pounds,  so  she  was  well-off.  Clarice  was 
one  of  those  interesting  girls  who  attract  men,  be- 
cause they  are  womanly;  she  had  no  acquired  ac- 
complishments. Her  knowledge  of  music,  pictures 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  23 

and  literature  was  small.  In  sport,  riding,  shooting, 
rowing  and  swimming,  she  was  as  proficient  as  the 
majority  of  the  men  in  the  county. 

Her  father  was  her  ideal  of  a  man,  as  a  husband, 
a  friend  and  a  soldier.  Edward  was  a  soldier,  a  good 
soldier.  That  was  his  great  merit  in  her  eyes.  Lady 
Clungford  said  he  had  the  making  of  a  man  in  him 
after  the  kind  of  her  husband.  "He  wouldn't  have 
had  a  dog's  chance  with  Clarice  if  he  had  been  any- 
thing but  a  soldier,"  she  wrote  to  Billy,  "though 
there's  a  good  strain  in  him.  He's  a  Willis — mother's 
side — crossed  with  money  and  dissent,  but  he  doesn't 
show  it  scarcely  at  all.  His  father  has  the  gift  of  the 
gab,  but  Ed  doesn't  bark.  He's  rather  like  that  collie 
your  father  loved  so  much  that  went  about  his  busi- 
ness without  fuss  or  noise.  I  like  him.  He's  a  jolly 
good  sort  and  will  make  Clarice  happy." 

Clungford  was  called  a  "dear  old  place."  Planted 
long  ago  on  the  side  of  a  ridge  of  hills  heavily 
wooded,  it  stood  guard  of  a  valley  which  shelved 
gently  down  to  the  River  Wene.  The  house  was 
sixteenth  century,  but  there  must  have  been  an  abbey 
there  long  before  that  time. 

When  Clarice  had  shown  Edward  the  gees,  they 
strolled  down  to  the  stream  and  got  into  a  punt. 

"Where  are  we  going  to  live?"  she  asked. 

He  had  not  given  the  matter  a  thought.  She  knew 
he  hadn't.  Her  question  was  a  bit  of  a  shock. 

"Live?  Oh,  where  you  like.  Anywhere,"  he  mut- 
tered. 

"Anywhere  won't  do,  will  it?  There's  the  army, 
you  know,"  she  mused. 

"Rather." 


24  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"It  must  be  in  the  country,  Ed,"  she  nodded  em- 
phatically. "But  where?  If  the  Guards  would  only 
stay  in  one  spot  Are  you  going  to  be  moved  about 
much?" 

"Don't  know.  Don't  think  so."  He  lit  a  ciga- 
rette. "There's  nothing  much  going  on  at  present. 
Anyway,  we're  going  to  Munich  for  our  wedding 
trip/'  ' 

"That's  fixed,  old  boy.  So  you  mean  to  leave  find- 
ing a  place  to  settle  in  to  me,  eh?" 

"Mean  to?  What  good  would  I  be?" 

"Mother's  been  at  me  for  a  month  about  it.  Her- 
bert's got  the  place  I  really  want.  Wilmslow  Lodge 
fixed  up  a  bit  would  fit  me  like  a  glove." 

"Ripping.    Let's  ask  him  to  get  out." 

"Pretty  hard  on  Herbert.  He's  properly  gone  on 
the  place,  Edward!" 

He  knew  something  serious  was  in  her  mind  when 
she  used  his  Christian  name.  He  leaned  forward 
and  took  her  hands.  She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment 
and  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  shall  love  the  army  so 
much  when  we  are  married,  old  boy.  Will  it  take 
you  away  from  me — much?  I  mean  often? — for 
long?" 

He  blew  on  the  hot  end  of  his  cigarette,  and  then 
looked  up  quickly  to  see  if  she  were  joking.  He  was 
puzzled.  She  had  surprised  him.  There  was  a  light 
in  her  eyes  he  had  never  seen  before;  in  a  moment 
he  was  on  his  knees  and  she  fast  in  his  arms.  It  was 
the  first  very  real  confession  she  had  made  to  him. 

"Well,  sweetheart,  make  your  mind  up  to  this," 
he  whispered.  "Where  the  regiment  goes,  you  go,  too." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  25 

Later  in  the  afternoon  he  drove  her  over  to  Crow- 
ington  to  dine  with  his  mother.  When  they  reached 
Press  Heath  he  answered  to  her  whim  to  go  round  by 
Wilmslow  to  look  at  the  Lodge.  They  could  see  the 
house  from  the  road.  Neither  she  nor  Edward  had 
been  round  that  way  since  the  hunting  season.  Now, 
to  their  amazement,  a  lot  of  building  was  going  on. 
Bricklayers,  masons  and  carpenters  were  at  work  on 
a  new  wing  to  the  house. 

"What's  going  on?"  Edward  asked  a  foreman  who 
came  down  to  the  gate. 

"The  count's  putting  a  new  wing  on,  sir.  Some 
say  he's  going  to  get  married  about  cubbin'  time,  sir," 
the  foreman  replied,  touching  his  cap  to  Clarice  and 
Edward. 

They  drove  on  in  silence  for  a  long  way. 

"Funny,  isn't  it?"  she  asked. 

"Wonder  what's  up,"  he  mused.  "Never  dropped 
a  hint  to-day  when  I  saw  him.  Married?" 

"But  Evelyn?" 

"Nothing  in  that.  She's  in  town.  Haven't  seen 
her  for  weeks." 

"I  don't  know.  Herbert's  jolly  fond  of  her.  The 
Cricket  would  keep  it  mum,  Ed." 

The  Cricket  was  a  pet  name  of  his  sister  Mary 
Evelyn.  She  could  make  a  sound  by  compressing  her 
lips  which  was  so  like  a  cricket  that  her  intimates 
dubbed  her  by  that  name.  Being  the  youngest  of 
the  family  she  was  looked  on  as  the  baby,  even  when 
she  went  her  own  way.  Count  Herbert  and  she  had 
been  very  good  friends,  but  he  was  over  thirty  and 
she  was  under  twenty.  She  was  the  baby,  though  she 
was  plus  two  and  played  golf  for  England.  Quite 


26  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

spoiled  everybody  said.  Alfred  idolized  her.  Her 
mother  gave  her  anything  she  asked  for. 

Life  went  very  well  for  the  hunting  set  in  that  fair 
land.  Courtship,  marriage  plans,  wedding  trips  and 
houses  to  live  in,  occupied  their  thoughts.  Broad 
lands,  fine  manors  and  more  money  than  they  could 
spend;  all  the  pleasures  that  could  be  wished  for. 
The  future  was  secure,  and  love  knew  no  obstacles, 
no  material  hindrances. 

Edward  took  Clarice  home  in  the  motor  at  eleven. 
When  he  returned  he  went  up  to  his  mother's  room. 
She  was  treating  her  face  to  the  youth  and  beauty 
preparation. 

"Did  you  have  a  chat  with  dad?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.  He  said  he  couldn't  be  bothered,  but  he 
will  all  the  same." 

"Is  he  keen?" 

"He's  picked  his  title." 

"What?" 

"Lord  Humberton  of  Crowington.  He  tried  to 
make  a  joke  of  it,  but  I  could  see  he  meant  it  all 
right." 

"Humberton  of  Crowington,"  she  muttered,  ex- 
amining her  face  in  the  glass. 

"A  bit  clumsy,  what?" 

"It's  not  bad,  Ed.  His  constituency  and  his  es- 
tate. But  how  much  better  to  take  old  aunty's  place 
for  a  title.  Haughmond  is  a  fine  old  ruin  with  many 
historical  associations."  She  referred  to  the  place 
her  aunt  had  left  her  ten  years  before — a  small  es- 
tate in  Wessex,  yielding  an  income  of  about  two 
thousand  pounds  a  year. 

"Heard  anything  of  the  Cricket,  lately?"  Ed  asked. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  27 

"She's  with  Aunt  Martha  in  town." 

"Seen  much  of  Herbert?" 

"Oh,  a  good  deal.  Why?" 

"Nothing." 

"Ed,  you've  heard." 

"What?" 

"About  the  Cricket?" 

"Going  to  be  married?" 

"Who  told  you?" 

"No  one  told  me  she  was  going  to  be  married. 
What's  up,  mater?  Come  on,  out  with  it." 

"Don't  tell  a  soul.  Well,  she's  going  to  marry 
Herbert  soon  after  you  and  Clarice  get  off  my 
hands." 

"Why,  the  deuce " 

"Don't  blame  me.  It's  all  her  doing.  She  wouldn't 
let  us  tell  a  soul,  and  she  made  Herbert  swear  he 
wouldn't  tell  any  one  until  you  were  married.  You 
know  what  a  lark  she  is.  She  said  your  affair  was 
to  be  the  pi£ce  de  resistance.  We  could  make  as 
big  a  splurge  on  her  as  we  like  after  you  and  Clarice 
got  settled." 

"How  long  have  they  been  engaged?"      , 

"Six  weeks." 

"So  that's  why  Herbert's  written  a  dozen  times  in 
the  past  month  to  know  the  date  of  our  do.  Dear  old 
chap." 

"What  d'you  think,  Ed?  He  has  settled  Wilmslow 
on  her  already." 

"Settled " 

"Yes — and  a  big  allowance  besides." 

Ed  whistled,  got  up  and  stretched  himself,  yawned 
and  kissed  his  mother. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  the  village  of  Crowington  there  lives  a  man  who 
in  his  early  years  fought  the  battle  for  dissent 
against  the  squirearchy  and  the  establishment.  Thomas 
Tonks,  now  eighty-three  and  in  possession  of  all  his 
faculties,  is  one  of  the  last  of  the  Ironsides  who  tri-* 
umphed  over  squire  and  vicar.  When  he  was  a  lad 
no  one  dare  let  it  be  known  that  any  one  in  that  vil- 
lage leaned  toward  non-conformity.  The  church,  the 
squire's  church,  was  the  one  place  for  worship,  the 
only  place  for  baptism,  marriage  and  funeral.  Tonks' 
father  and  mother  were  buried  in  Anglican  soil 
though  their  coffins  contained  the  bodies  of  non-con-' 
formists.  Thomas  and  his  brothers  and  sisters  were 
baptized  in  the  old  church  though  their  parents  knew, 
according  to  the  vicar  who  sprinkled  them,  they 
would  go  to  hell  if  they  died  in  dissent. 

How  Thomas  Tonks  at  twenty-two  became  pos- 
sessor of  an  acre  and  a  half  of  land  right  in  the 
center  of  Crowington  village  is  an  old  story.  Formerly 
the  land  belonged  to  an  old  widow,  a  devout  Anglican, 
who  had  an  only  son,  a  thriftless  drunken  fellow 
who  worked  as  an  hostler  in  the  capital  town,  Min- 
sterley.  The  old  lady  was  dying  and  Tonks'  mother 
ministered  to  her  bodily  needs.  She  learned  from 
her  patient  that  her  bit  of  property  would  go  to  her 
son.  Now  Thomas  went  to  Minsterley  once  a  week 
with  produce,  and  after  learning  from  his  mother 
that  the  land  and  house  of  the  old  lady  would  pass 

28 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  29 

to  her  son,  he  looked  up  the  dissolute  hostler,  and 
got  him  to  sign  away  his  interest  in  his  mother's  es- 
tate for  four  hundred  pounds,  to  be  paid  in  instal- 
ments with  fifty  pounds  down.  The  hostler  readily 
entered  into  the  bargain. 

When  Thomas  returned  home  that  night  he  learned 
the  old  lady  had  died  at  noon  that  day — several  hours 
before  her  son  had  signed  the  agreement.  Early  the 
next  morning  Thomas  with  fifty  pounds  set  out  for 
Minsterley  and  took  the  hostler,  as  sober  as  ever  he 
was  in  his  life,  to  an  attorney  who  did  business  for 
dissenters.  The  matter  was  legally  transacted  and 
Thomas  returned  to  his  home  to  break  to  his  family 
the  happiest  news  they  ever  heard. 

They  moved  into  the  house  they  had  bought  and 
in  four  years  they  paid  the  last  instalment  to  the 
hostler  who  was  fast  drinking  himself  to  death.  From 
the  day  their  lawyer  in  Minsterley  assured  them  that 
the  land  and  house  were  really  their  "very  own," 
the  Tonks  famify  never  set  foot  in  church  again. 

How  the  squire  and  vicar  contested  the  sale  and 
worried  and  harried  the  dissenters  who  defied  them 
and  every  Sunday  conducted  a  service  in  their  par- 
lor, is  an  oft  told  tale.  But  nevertheless  the  fight  was 
carried  on  for  years.  Indeed  the  case  was  mentioned 
in  the  House  of  Commons  in  the  debate  on  Burial 
Grounds. 

Now,  any  Sunday,  more  people  assemble  for  wor- 
ship in  Tonks'  Chapel,  built  in  a  corner  of  that 
famous  acre  and  a  half,  than  ever  go  to  the  church. 
Yes,  even  now  when  the  Reverend  Harold  Horton- 
Birkett,  son  of  the  squire  and  vicar  of  Crowington, 
preaches  on  a  Saint's  Day.. 


30  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

But  in  all  the  years  of  Alfred's  rule  of  the  estate 
of  Crowington  he  never  set  foot  in  Tonks'  Chapel. 
Time  turns  many  victories  into  defeats.  Old  Thomas, 
called  the  Ironside,  was  passing  down  the  vale  with 
head  bowed,  sorrowing  for  the  change  that  could 
make  such  a  man  as  Alfred  Horton-Birkett,  President 
of  the  Grand  Council  of  United  Dissenters.  In  the 
graveyard  of  Tonks'  Chapel  there  lay  the  bones 
of  .such  men  and  women  as  Jacob  Birkett  and  El- 
speth  Horton,  the  parents  of  Alfred,  some  of  the  salt 
of  Britain.  Old  Thomas  thought  the  change  came 
when  dissent  triumphed  and  had  no  longer  a  spiritual 
battle  to  wage.  From  his  loins  had  gone  into  the 
world  a  large  family,  five  sons  and  four  daughters,  all 
raised  on  that  acre  and  a  half,  less  the  space  the 
chapel  and  the  house  occupied.  They  scratched  the 
earth  all  the  year  round,  and  every  Thursday,  market 
day  at  Minsterley,  their  long  cart  at  three  o'clock 
winter  and  summer  morning  went  laden  with  greens, 
fruits  and  flowers.  They  believed  in  that  bounty  of 
God  that  yields  to  man's  sense  and  understanding 
of  His  earth. 

Ebenezer  Tonks,  the  eldest  son  of  Thomas,  was 
now  the  active  head  of  the  family.  Ebenezer  had  be- 
come a  small  farmer,  leasing  thirty  acres  outside  the 
village.  He  had  two  sons  and  six  daughters;  in  the 
epidemic  of  diptheria  which  ravaged  the  country  in 
the  nineties  he  lost  two  boys  and  a  girl.  Four  daugh- 
ters were  married  and  away  in  the  towns,  two  re- 
mained at  home  and  assisted  their  father.  Harry, 
the  younger  lad,  was  in  Manchester  in  an  architect's 
office.  Benjamin  had  been  to  Ruskin  College  and 
was  now  engaged  in  London  writing  for  a  labor 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  31 

paper.  He  had  published  a  novel  which  had  met 
with  some  success. 

A  'small  volume  of  verse  was  favorably  noticed 
in  the  weekly  reviews.  He  made  a  living  writing 
and  lecturing  in  and  about  London.  The  family  was 
proud  of  him. 

Benjamin  was  a  fine-looking  man.  Tall,  athletic 
and  enthusiastic.  The  strong  sense  of  social  injustice 
burned  fiercely  in  him.  The  rosy  hope  of  early  dras- 
tic reform  gave  him  the  radiance  of  the  happy  ideal- 
ist. People  liked  him.  There  was  something  rous- 
ing, cheering,  in  his  personality,  and  a  rich  humor 
softened  his  opponents  when  political  antagonism  ran 
high.  He  was  a  peace-and-plenty- for- workers  man. 

When  he  was  a  lad  he  met  Ellen  Horton-Birkett 
at  Minsterley  Flower  Show.  Ellen  was  in  tears.  She 
had  lost  her  brothers  who  had  been  taken  in  to  see 
the  show.  In  the  midst  of  the  big  flower  tent  she 
stood  in  great  distress,  having  searched  the  grounds 
Tor  an  hour  in  vain  to  find  her  party.  They  had 
gone  on  early  to  get  good  seats  where  the  horse- 
jumping  display  would  take  place.  But  the  jumping 
was  over,  and  evening  was  coming  on.  Poor  little 
Ellen,  too  proud  to  let  any  one  think  she  was  lost 
had  bravely  hidden  her  fears.  Tired  and  hungry, 
she  at  length  went  back  to  the  tent  where  she  and 
her  brothers  with  their  guardian  were  all  together 
just  before  she  lost  sight  of  them.  Benjamin  bought 
tea  and  cakes  for  her  and  cheered  her  up.  When 
night  fell  and  none  of  her  party  could  be  found,  he 
started  off  with  her  the  long  eleven  miles  to  Crow- 
ington.  He  had  cycled  into  the  show.  The  journey 
home  was  slow  and  tiresome.  Sometimes  on  the 


32  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

step,  sometimes  on  the  saddle  while  Ben  pushed  the 
machine,  then  riskily  seated  with  her  legs  hanging 
over  the  handlebars  while  he  rode,  then  walking  a 
stretch,  they  at  length  reached  the  gates  of  Crow- 
ington  at  eleven-thirty,  worn  out. 

Ben  never  forgot  his  return  from  Minsterley 
Flower  Show,  and  he  and  Ellen  grew  up  fast  friends. 
Indeed,  after  she  went  away  to  Germany  they  kept 
up  a  correspondence. 

Ben  was  one  of  the  new  men  who  believed  eco- 
nomic change  must  be  brought  about  by  a  revolution 
in  culture.  It  is  not  enough,  so  these  new  men  be- 
lieve, to  teach  the  workers  the  simple  economics  of 
the  system  of  "bind  and  grind,"  if  an  industrial  revo- 
lution without  bloodshed  is  to  be  of  permanent  value. 
Something  else  is  necessary.  Teachers,  like  himself, 
must  point  the  way  to  new  delights,  and  show  the 
masses  that  economic  change  will  mean  far  more 
than  less  hours  of  labor  and  the  full  value  of  the 
product  going  to  the  producer.  This  something  else 
was  cultural  and  artistic.  It  was  a  deep  belief  in 
the  power  of  music,  literature  and  art  to  unify  and 
consolidate  the  masses  of  workers.  These  things  he 
held  were  vital.  But  land  and  capital  did  next  to 
nothing  with  the  wonders  of  symphony  and  song, 
books  and  pictures.  There  were  indeed  great  na- 
tional libraries  and  galleries,  and  many  large  towns 
had  municipal  books  and  pictures.  But  there  stood 
the  big  buildings,  most  days,  silent  and  lonely.  Life 
devoid  of  music,  literature  and  art  was  worse  than 
death  to  these  new  men.  And  when  they  came  upon 
the  political  industrial  scene  they  found  the  workers 
shockingly  ignorant  of  those  joys  which  were  in 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  33 

many  places  within  their  grasp.  Few  men  had 
attempted  to  tell  them  what  they  were  missing.  No 
one  had  succeeded  in  telling  them  so  that  they  under- 
stood. The  classical  men  had  failed  in  their  attempts 
for  they  talked  to  tired  workers  as  if  they  were 
freshmen  in  a  university  lecture  room.  Morris  had 
approached  the  mass  nearer  than  any  one  else. 

When  Ben  wrote  his  novel  on  housing  conditions 
in  mining  districts  he  raised  the  whole  of  this  ques- 
tion of  labor  and  art  in  such  a  way  that  the  appeal 
reached  those  Radical  politicians  who  had  for  many 
years  striven  to  rouse  the  workers  without  much 
success.  Ben's  idea  caught  on.  "Art  and  econom- 
ics" became  a  platform  phrase  as  popular  as  "land 
for  the  people."  Labor  societies  began  to  publish 
cheap  editions  of  good  drama,  fine  literature,  and  in 
their  newspapers,  music  and  pictures  were  dealt  with 
to  greater  public  advantage  than  great  critics  did  in 
the  well-known  journals  and  weeklies.  Political  edu- 
cation took  another  turn;  their  platform  became  a 
living  thing.  Away  from  the  superficial  questions 
of  party  strife  down  to  fundamentals  and  up  to 
broad  appeals  for  leisure  and  abundance  so  that  men 
and  women  who  work  might  know  and  appreciate  the 
best  of  the  artists'  mind. 

Ellen  in  Germany  and  Ben  in  Britain  kept  in  touch, 
and  this  question  was  the  one  great  theme  of  most 
of  their  letters.  She  was  a  musician  and  a  rebel. 
Ben  thought  she  was  too  advanced,  far  too  much  for 
a  woman  of  the  ruling  class.  Much  of  her  writing 
alarmed  him.  She  scoffed  at  politicians  and  priests; 
and  when  she  begged  him  to  work  away  from  all 
political  parties  and  churches  he  was  sorely  puzzled. 


34 


Six  years  of  life  on  the  Continent  had  worked  a  great 
change  in  her.  She  was  twenty-eight  or  nine.  When 
he  took  her  home  from  Minsterley  Show  he  was 
fifteen  and  she  was  about  twelve.  He  felt  he  had 
known  her  for  a  long,  long  time.  When  she  went 
away  he  was  in  London  doing  secretarial  work  for 
Lord  Spenhouse,  the  Chairman  of  the  Children's 
Recreation  Committee  of  the  London  County  Coun- 
cil. He  knew  she  was  leaving  England,  but  he  did 
not  expect  a  note  from  her  saying  she  was  leaving 
"to-morrow  at  nine  from  Charing  Cross,"  and  an 
invitation  to  take  dinner  with  her  and  go  to  the 
theater  to  see  Ibsen's  Vikings.  Ben  readily  ac- 
cepted her  invitation,  and  he  enjoyed  the  evening. 
But  he  never  at  any  time  since  the  Minsterley  meet- 
ing got  away  from  the  fact  that  she  was  the  squire's 
daughter  and  he  the  son  of  a  small  farmer.  He 
would  have  blushed  to  admit  such  a  thing.  But  so 
ingrained  is  the  line  of  division  in  agricultural  folk 
that  no  university  education  or  social  associations  in 
political  life  in  London,  can  quite  wipe  it  out  of  the 
mind.  He  loved  her,  but  he  never  dreamed  of  telling 
her.  What  was  the  good?  She  was  not  of  his  class. 
In  the  years  before  he  left  Crowington  to  go  on  his 
scholarship  to  Minsterley  High  School,  and  she  went 
away  to  study  the  fiddle  under  Brodskin  in  Man- 
chester, they  were  good  friends,  though  they  met  in- 
frequently, on  the  road  as  a  rule,  never  yielding  to 
the  desire  to  talk  together  for  long.  It  was  a  friend- 
ship which  ripened  on  glad  smiles:  an  understanding 
between  them  that  they  were  comrades.  Her  first 
appearance  as  a  violinist  in  public  took  place 
at  a  concert  given  in  the  Parish  School  in  aid  of  the 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  35 

Sick  Nursing  Fund,  and  he  played  her  accompani- 
ment in  the  absence  of  the  church  organist  who  had 
been  taken  suddenly  ill.  That  happened  only  a  few 
months  before  they  left  Crowington,  but  the  incident 
seemed  to  bring  them  into  closer  touch,  it  forged  a 
bond  of  friendship  which  absence  did  not  break. 

Ben  had  often  thought  of  that  night  in  London 
before  she  left  for  the  Continent.  She  drank  bur- 
gundy, and  smiled  at  his  surprise.  She  smoked  a 
cigarette,  and  chaffed  him  for  his  abstinence.  Some- 
thing she  said  about  sprouting  wings  nettled  him. 
And  what  did  she  mean  by  saying  so  often,  she  meant 
to  live  her  own  life  and  escape  from  the  slavery  of 
British  domestic  intercourse.  It  was  all  very  strange. 
He  was  afraid.  Was  she  inclined  to  be  wild?  Many 
times  she  wrote  suggesting  he  should  visit  Dresden. 
A  few  months  there  would  do  a  lot  for  him,  she  said. 
He  thought  the  crowd  she  was  with  more  rebellious, 
bohemian  and  advanced  than  any  he  knew  of  in 
Britain.  But  she  was  making  her  way  on  the  concert 
platform,  and  as  a  song  writer  and  composer  of 
charming  pieces  of  music,  she  had  done  well. 

Ben  did  not  know  what  Ellen  meant.  Ellen,  how- 
ever, knew  what  she  meant.  To  a  young  scientist 
of  some  distinction,  a  Russian  who  had  been  with 
Metchnikoff  in  Paris,  she  laid  her  soul  bare.  This 
young  man  stormed  the  citadel  of  Ellen's  heart  for 
two  years  without  making  the  slightest  impression. 
Then  she  told  him.  "It's  no  use,"  she  said,  "still  I 
ought  to  tell  you.  What  you  want  is  impossible.  I 
picked  the  man  I  want  years  ago.  Yes,  I  was  only 
sixteen  when  I  made  up  my  mind  about  that.  And  no 
one  else  has  ever  made  me  flinch,  though  at  any  time 


36  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

since,  the  man  I  chose  at  sixteen  could  have  taken 
me.  But  he  doesn't  know.  Perhaps  he  will  never 
know." 

Ellen's  life  in  Dresden  was  one  of  hard  labor. 
She  lived  frugally.  Two  small  rooms  and  music. 
She  knew  she  could  never  be  a  great  artist,  she  knew 
she  never  could  be  much  of  a  composer.  But  she 
toiled  on.  She  was  a  musician,  and  that  at  last  she 
was  content  to  be.  Her  recreations  were  general 
knowledge.  She  wrote  on  music  and  pictures,  and 
studied  history  and  politics.  Her  friends  were  many 
and  of  her  own  making.  At  no  time  did  she  spend 
money  to  win  them,  and  use  her  father's  name  and 
influence  to  meet  people.  Such  expedients  she 
scorned.  The  friends  she  had  were  hers  and  made 
by  her  own  merit  and  personality. 

Was  Ellen  pretty?  No,  she  was  elfish.  Slight, 
pale,  short — just  over  five  feet,  she  was  not  a  woman 
of  the  beauty  class.  But  she  was  all  fire  and  zeal. 
Bright,  dark  gray  eyes,  a  fine  nose  and  a  strong 
mouth  were  the  striking  features  of  her  face.  Her 
health  was  perfect.  Her  wiry  little  body  knew  no 
aches  and  pains. 

Her  portrait  was  painted  by  Ruench.  A  weird 
composition  of  somber  tones  against  dark  red  drapery. 
The  white  face,  the  hand  on  the  bow,  the  glossy 
fiddle,  were  arresting  lights  in  many  deep  shadows. 
The  picture  was  shown  at  the  Glass  Palace  exhibition 
"at  Munich,  and  was  bought  by  an  American  art 
dealer.  Ben  had  a  photogravure  of  it. 


CHAPTER  V 

AT  the  meeting  of  the  board  of  directors  of  the 
Haigh  Shell  and  Bullet  Company  there  assem- 
bled some  of  Britain's  greatest  men.  Lord  Trebles- 
wale  was  as  usual  the  first  director  to  reach  the 
company's  offices.  He  was  a  peace  man  and  a  vice- 
president  of  the  Grand  Council  of  International 
Churches.  A  Tory  by  birth  and  tradition,  but  in 
middle  life  a  Whig  in  domestic  politics.  He  could 
tell  you,  offhand,  the  military  and  naval  estimates  of 
any  first-class  Power  since  the  days  of  Palmerston. 
As  for  the  change  in  equipment,  the  size  of  the  guns, 
and  the  weight  of  a  broadside  of  a  battleship — he 
was  an  authority.  The  second  to  enter  the  directors' 
room  was  his  old  friend  Sir  Redvers  Foote,  an  ad- 
miral of  distinction  in  the  days  when  the  British 
fleet  bombarded  Alexandria.  General  Saintsbury 
came  in  with  Mr.  Leverton.  The  general  had  been 
something  at  Woolwich  arsenal,  and  what  he  did  not 
know  of  ordnance  was  not  worth  bothering  about. 
Mr.  Leverton,  as  every  one  should  know,  was  the 
senior  partner  in  the  firm  of  Doubleton,  Swindon, 
and  Leverton.  They  carried  on  business  all  over  the 
world,  contractors  and  financiers  in  close  touch  with 
all  first-class  Governments.  The  Earl  of  Cintoul  had 
been  connected  with  a  lot  of  companies,  some  were 
not  in  the  hands  of  receivers:  he  was  a  useful 
member  of  the  board,  however,  for  he  seemed  to  get 
on  so  well  with  all  the  people  at  the  War  Office  and 

37 


38  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

the  Admiralty.  Doctor  Haigh  must  not  be  forgotten ; 
the  doctor  was  a  great  chemist,  the  discoverer  of  the 
famous  yellow  fume,  the  noiseless  cap,  and  the  in- 
ventor of  the  Haigh  shell  and  bullet. 

Sir  Alfred  was  the  chairman  of  the  board. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  toward  the  end  of 
June  when  the  directors  met  to  consider  the  question 
of  issuing  the  prospectus  of  the  Oporto  Steel  Con- 
struction Company,  and  to  consider  the  prospects 
of  setting  up  a  plant  in  Dalmatia.  It  was  the  first 
meeting  of  the  board  since  Mr.  Clinton  made  his 
speech  on  armament  firms  in /the  House  of  Commons, 
and  naturally  the  directors  of  the  Haigh  Shell  and 
Bullet  Company  felt  some  embarrassment  on  meeting 
one  another.  They  knew,  of  course,  that  Clinton  was 
only  a  Radical  whose  chief  desire  in  life  was  to  set 
class  against  class,  and  whose  interpretation  of  their 
holdings  of  shares  in  the  great  armament  firms  arose 
from  sheer  prejudice  and  envy.  Clinton  had  gath- 
ered together  a  lot  of  information  about  their  inter- 
national armament  relationships  which  he  gave  away 
in  his  speech  on  the  navy  estimates  in  such  a  way 
that  one  Liberal,  two  labor  and  three  religious 
papers  took  alarm,  and  in  their  leaders  of  the  time 
said  some  nasty  things  about  their  interest  in  blood 
money.  The  directors  felt  that  their  best  intentions 
had  been  maliciously  misunderstood.  Clinton  had 
not  given  them  credit  for  their  peaceful  endeavors. 
They  felt  hurt  and  discouraged.  The  attack  that  had 
been  made  on  their  chairman,  who  held  so  high  a 
position  in  the  great  body  of  dissenters,  was  extremely 
vindictive.  They  meant  to  pass  a  resolution  of  sym- 
pathy with  Sir  Alfred  and  in  it  express  their  strongest' 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  39 

disapprobation  of  Clinton's  scurrilous  methods  of  try- 
ing to  gain  some  notoriety. 

When  Sir  Alfred  entered  the  room  (he  was  always 
a  few  minutes  late,  business  with  the  manager  always 
detained  him  until  the  rest  of  the  board  had  assem- 
bled), Lord  Trebleswale  was  the  first  to  press  his 
hand.  To  the  surprise  of  the  rest  of  the  directors 
Sir  Alfred  was  as  happy  and  confident  as  usual.  Per- 
haps he  forgot  the  attack  Clinton  had  made;  being  a 
very  busy  man  it  no  doubt  had  passed  out  of  his 
mind. 

He  had  a  marvelous  way  with  him.  A  glance 
at  the  agenda  was  quite  sufficient.  He  seemed  to 
know  all  the  business  they  were  there  to  discuss,  he 
even  anticipated  all  the  questions  that  might  be  put. 
Tables  of  figures  in  tons  and  sterling  came  trippingly 
from  his  tongue,  and  the  names  of  foreign  directors 
and  places  were  as  familiar  to  him  as  the  names  of 
his  children.  As  a  statistician  he  was  quite  as  able 
as  the  redoubtable  gentleman  in  the  Commons  who 
made  a  very  good  living  in  compiling  tables  of  sta- 
tistics from  one  year's  end  to  another.  When  the 
business  of  the  meeting  was  concluded,  Trebleswale 
and  Leverton  drew  Sir  Alfred  aside  to  discuss  a 
matter  which  was  not  ripe  for  the  ears  of  the  other 
directors.  It  was  about  the  new  harbor  which  the 
Government  hoped  to  make  in  the  Orkneys.  Leverton 
had  urged  the  necessity  of  building  this  harbor  ever 
since  the  present  Government  had  been  in  office.  Now 
the  rumor  which  had  been  set  abroad  that  the  Gov- 
ernment intended  to  drop  the  scheme  caused  Lever- 
ton  some  uneasiness,  and  he  felt  that  a  great  injustice 
might  be  done  to  the  Trebleswale  estate  which  owned 


40  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

the  land  and  the  sea  front,  the  site  of  the  proposed 
harbor.  It  would  be  a  monstrous  thing  for  the  Gov- 
ernment to  neglect  the  defenses  of  the  country  by 
abandoning  a  naval  position  whose  strategic  impor- 
tance was  vital  to  the  safety  of  the  empire. 

"It  places  me  in  rather  an  awkward  position," 
Trebleswale  explained,  "for  one  does  not  like  to  ask 
the  Government  to  buy  one's  land — though  every 
naval  expert  agrees  that  it  is  just  the  very  spot  the 
country  should  acquire." 

"Quite  so,"  Sir  Alfred  nodded.  "Very  awkward 
indeed.  I  see  your  position.  But  what  can  I  do?" 
he  asked,  turning  to  Leverton. 

"Couldn't  a  question  or  two  be  put  in  the  House?" 
Leverton  suggested.  "Couldn't  we  get  some  of  our 
men  to  question  the  First  Lord?" 

"Yes,  that  might  be  done,"  Sir  Alfred  agreed.  "But 
I  must  warn  you,  the  question  of  the  Government  buy- 
ing land  for  harbors  and  training  grounds  meets  with 
merciless  scrutiny  just  now,  owing  to  the  Stonehenge 
Plain  sale  for  a  training  ground  for  soldiers." 

"That  was  not  a  nice  business,"  Trebleswale  said 
with  emphasis.  "The  Government  was  swindled." 

"But  a  new  North  Sea  harbor  is  essential,"  Lever- 
ton  put  in,  gravely  shaking  his  head  and  pursing  his 
lips.  "Some  of  the  land  of  Stonehenge  Plain  was 
sold  at  over  one  hundred  years'  purchase.  Now  the 
land  for  the  harbor  in  the  Orkneys  can  be  bought  at 
sixty-eight  years'  purchase.  A  very  moderate  figure 
considering  the  needs  of  the  empire." 

"Very  moderate,"  Sir  Alfred  echoed.  "And  the 
scheme  fits  in  with  my  plan  of  national  security. 
I  don't  know  whether  you  saw  my  article  in  the 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  41 

Trafalgar  Review  on  coast  defenses  where  I  criti- 
cized the  laxity  of  the  Defense  Committee  in  neglect- 
ing what  I  called  the  ante-room  of  the  North  Atlantic. 
Now  I  think  Cromarty  is  not  far  enough  north,  and 
Rosyth  is  too  far  south.  We  need  a  base  as  far 
north  as  we  can  go.  If  we  had  it,  then  the  other 
naval  harbors  would  have  real  strategic  value.  I'll 
see  what  I  can  do." 

The  chairman  and  his  fellow  directors  parted  com- 
pany feeling  that  they  had  done  their  best  to  save 
their  country  from  an  unnecessary  war.  Lord 
Trebleswale  motored  off  to  his  club,  the  Pantheon,  for 
lunch.  Mr.  Leverton  took  a  bus  to  Whitehall  and 
dropped  off  at  the  Admiralty  where  his  friend  the 
Honorable  Harry  Jerningham,  permanent  secretary  to 
the  board  of  contractors,  was  waiting  to  see  him.  Sir 
Alfred  got  into  his  motor  and  went  to  his  club  on 
the  Embankment.  There  he  partook  of  a  chop  and  an 
tankard  of  light  ale.  After  forty  winks  ia  the  smoke 
room  he  walked  across  to  the  offices  of  the  Grand 
Council  of  Dissenters  and  presided  over  a  meeting 
which  was  to  settle  the  plans  for  the  entertainment  of 
the  missionaries  from  Turkestan.  The  Reverend 
Jones  Glynn  Smith  offered  up  a  prayer  which  deeply 
moved  the  chairman.  It  was  so  full  of  appreciation 
of  God's  bounty,  and  the  care  He  had  taken  in 
Turkestan  of  the  lives  of  the  men  connected  with  the 
mission.  Sir  Alfred  had  to  hasten  away  to  the  dis- 
senters' education  committee,  there  to  protest  against 
the  intrusion  of  an  Anglican  vicar  on  the  premises  of 
a  county  school  in  the  south.  It  was  rather  a  bad 
case,  and  one  that  gave  great  offense  to  those  who 
desired  simple  Bible  instruction  in  the  schools.  It 


42  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

was  not  to  be  expected  that  a  man  who  was  finan- 
cially responsible  for  sending  ten  missionaries  among 
the  heathen  of  Turkestan  should  take  lightly  the 
question  of  a  vicar  of  the  establishment  daring  to  set 
foot  in  an  undenominational  school.  The  committee 
decided  to  send  a  deputation  to  see  the  prime  min- 
ister about  it.  Then  Sir  Alfred  had  just  time  enough 
to  take  his  seat  in  the  House  before  prayers  which  he 
always  attended  when  he  had  a  question  down  on 
the  order  paper,  to  be  put  soon  after  the  service. 
.That  day  the  question  was  to  inquire  whether  the 
cruisers  repairing  at  Gibraltar  were  to  be  withdrawn 
from  the  Mediterranean  fleet.  The  debate  of  the  day 
was  on  swine  fever,  and  as  Sir  Alfred  left  his  hogs 
to  the  care  of  the  manager  of  his  farm,  he  did  not 
wait  to  hear  the  weighty  speech  of  the  prosy  member 
for  Sportshire  who  was  an  authority  on  that  disease. 
In  the  smoke  room  Sir  Alfred  met  his  old  friend 
Sir  Fergus  Paulton,  the  member  for  Nitworth;  the 
man  who  had  traveled  far  in  China,  Persia,  Africa 
and  India.  Round  about  them  lolled  many  members 
glancing  through  the  first  editions  of  the  evening 
papers.  In  the  far  room  members  pored  over  chess 
boards,  draught  boards  and  illustrated  papers.  Torys 
and  Liberals,  Unionists  and  Nationalists,  fraternized 
together,  and  smoked  their  pipes  over  many  a  knotty 
problem  in  draughts  and  chess.  In  that  room  Dem- 
ocracy was  seen  at  its  best.  After  Sir  Alfred  had 
finished  his  cigar  and  coffee,  he  strolled  off  to  the 
dining-room  to  see  the  manager  of  the  refreshment 
department  about  a  little  dinner  for  eight  which  he 
had  ordered  for  that  evening  at  seven  forty-five.  When 
everything  was  settled  to  his  satisfaction  he  sought  the 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  43 

terrace  where  he  expected  to  tea  one  of  the  leaders 
of  a  non-militant  suffrage  society  and  the  secretary 
of  the  United  Societies  for  the  Prevention  of  Cru- 
elty to  Birds.  On  the  terrace  before  his  guests 
arrived  he  ran  into  old  Lord  Parkgate  who  was 
taking  an  airing  before  the  crowd  appeared. 

"Well,  Birkett,  how  are  you?"  his  lordship  asked. 
He  had  known  Sir  Alfred  since  the  days  of  Wap- 
ping,  before  the  hyphen  united  the  houses  of  Horton 
and  Birkett.  Indeed  Lord  Parkgate  was  the  candi- 
date Sir  Alfred  supported  in  that  bye-election  which 
gave  him  a  taste  for  Radical  oratory.  Parkgate  had 
not  then  inherited  the  title;  he  was  the  Honorable 
Algernon  Dee,  a  thoroughgoing  Radical  of  the  Bent- 
ham  school. 

"How  goes  the  shell  business?" 

"Very  well,"  Sir  Alfred  said.  "We  are  extending 
our  influence  all  over  Europe." 

"You're  mad  all  the  same,"  his  lordship  said,  snick- 
ering and  shrugging  his  shrunken  shoulders.  "There'll 
be  the  damdest  bust  up  soon  the  world  has  ever  se'en. 
You  mark  my  words,  Birkett." 

"You  amaze  me.  How  can  there  be  a  bust  up  ?  All 
the  first-class  countries  are  so  well  prepared  no  one 
dare  fire  a  shot.  Don't  you  see  ?  That  is  what  I  have 
been  working  for  all  these  years,  and  I  think  I  can 
congratulate  myself  that  I  have  proved  conclusively 
that  the  best  way  to  preserve  peace  is  to  prepare  for 
war." 

"Oh !    You  can,  can  you  ?" 

Parkgate  stopped,  and  clasping  his  hands  behind  his 
back,  he  steadily  surveyed  Sir  Alfred  over  the  upper 


44  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

rim  of  his  glasses,  which  always  rested  on  the  very  tip 
of  his  nose. 

"Birkett,  I  never  know  quite  whether  you  fellows  are 
consciously  mad  or  unconsciously  crazy.  You  talk  like 
mad  men,  but  to  all  appearances  you  seem  to  be  ra- 
tional. So  all  the  nations  are  so  heavily  armed  no  one 
dare  fire  a  shot?  That's  it,  is  it?  Well,  let  me  tell 
you  I  am  still  one  of  the  old  school,  and  I  know  where 
your  foreign  policy  is  leading  you.  I  know  where  your 
jingo  press  is  urging  you  to  go.  I  know  the  senti- 
ments of  these  chaps  in  the  army  and  navy.  I  have 
one  son  in  the  navy,  one  in  the  War  Office,  one  in 
the  Foreign  Office — or  rather  he's  now  at  Rome — two 
sons-in-law  in  the  army,  and  three  daughters  in — 
oh,  damn  it!  society.  My  sources  of  information  are 
as  good  as  yours.  So  let  me  tell  you,  one  of  these 
fine  days,  those  guns  loaded  with  your  confounded 
shells  will  go  off  and  set  Europe  in  a  blaze.  And  I'm 
not  the  only  man  who  thinks  that  way." 

It  was  a  line  of  argument  that  Sir  Alfred  never 
liked.  Somehow  he  felt  embarrassed  when  any  one 
opened  up  that  question.  He  was  convinced  in  his 
own  mind  there  was  no  danger,  but  he  did  not  like 
to  know  that  well-informed  men  hugged  the  belief 
that  his  policy  was  a  dangerous  one.  All  the  leading 
statesmen  of  Europe  talked  peace,  and  there  never 
was  a  notion  so  popular  as  that  of  an  armed  peace 
preventing  war.  Lord  Parkgate  always  seemed  to 
upset  him ;  the  old  peer  did  not  regard  him  from  the 
same  view-point  as  the  vast  majority  of  his  friends. 
Parkgate  had  no  money  in  armaments.  That  was 
perhaps  the  reason  why  he  could  not  see  eye  to  eye 
with  Sir  Alfred.  Then  Parkgate  always  seemed  te 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  45 

remind  him  of  the  days  when  he  was  an  oil  and  coal 
merchant  in  Wapping.  The  old  gentleman  never 
referred  to  it,  but  Sir  Alfred  always  thought  of  it 
when  he  was  in  his  company. 

"You  are  as  keen,  I  am  sure,  as  I  am  for  the  safety 
of  the  empire,"  Sir  Alfred  said,  "and  I  believe  that 
you  would  not  hesitate  to  make  any  sacrifice  to  main- 
tain our  island's  supremacy." 

Parkgate  watched  him  narrowly,  his  old  eyes 
flashing  something  like  a  sparkle  of  merry  light. 
"Now  we  have  great  competitors,"  Sir  Alfred  con- 
tinued, "and  in  these  days  the  rush  for  new  markets 
forces  us  to  be  prepared  for  any  emergency." 

"Birkett,  please,  do  remember  that  you  are  not 
addressing  an  audience  of  armament  share-holders, 
nor  apologizing  to  a  congregation  of  dissenters  for 
belligerent  motives,"  his  lordship  remarked  caustic- 
ally. "I  am  fortunately  too  sophisticated  for  that 
kind  of  thing.  You  are  only  deluding  yourself." 

Just  at  that  moment  the  suffragette  fluttered  up  to 
Sir  Alfred  and  took  possession  of  him.  Parkgate 
speedily  recognized  the  cut  of  the  young  lady,  and 
being  an  out  and  out  opponent  of  Woman's  Suffrage 
he  beat  a  hasty  retreat  toward  the  Lords'  end  of  the 
terrace.  It  was  about  half  past  four  and  the  tea 
tables  were  rapidly  filling  up.  It  was  a  lovely  after- 
noon, so  clear  the  sky,  that  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's 
stood  out  boldly  in  the  thin  haze  lying  far  away 
to  the  east.  On  the  balconies  of  St.  Thomas'  Hos- 
pital patients  could  be  seen  waving  their  hands  to  the 
passengers  on  a  river  boat.  In  the  river,  near  the 
terrace  wall,  a  number  of  young  men  and  women 
were  giving  an  exhibition,  for  the  benefit  of  mem- 


46  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

bers,  of  a  life-saving  collar.  Their  antics  in  the 
water  were  vastly  amusing.  A  motor-boat  sped  along 
the  river  at  thirty-five  miles  an  hour  and  disappeared 
under  Westminster  Bridge;  the  people  on  the  bridge 
moved  like  a  swift  black  cloud  from  one  side  to  the 
other  to  watch  it  pass  down  the  stream.  From  the 
west  a  steam  launch  headed  for  the  terrace  wall,  and 
as  it  got  near,  the  cry  of  "Suffragettes"  passed  along 
from  table  to  table.  The  launch  stopped,  and  from 
the  roof  of  its  saloon  a  woman  addressed  the  people 
on  the  terrace.  For  ten  minutes  the  fun  was  fast 
and  furious,  but  the  appearance  of  a  fast  approach- 
ing police-boat  put  the  suffragette  launch  to  flight, 
and  the  people  on  the  terrace  scrambled  back  to  their 
tables  and  resumed  their  tea.  It  was  a  merry,  care- 
less, prosperous  throng.  A  sight  that  can  not  be  seen 
in  any  other  capital  in  Europe.  The  terrace  of  the 
House  of  Commons  on  a  fine  June  afternoon  is  unique. 
Later  in  the  day  Sir  Alfred  set  to  work  to  keep 
his  promise  to  Mr.  Leverton  that  he  would  find  some 
young  men  to  put  down  questions  on  the  order  paper 
about  the  proposed  scheme  of  a  naval  harbor  in  the 
Orkneys.  He  found  young  Henry  Everton  Hales,  a 
Tory,  an  enthusiastic  Imperialist  and  a  big  navy  man, 
who  eagerly  took  the  tip  and  promised  to  question 
the  First  Lord.  Hales  was  like  so  many  young  men 
in  the  House  bold  in  his  desire  for  a  strong  navy. 
They  could  see  nothing  else  but  sinister  designs  on  the 
empire.  Germany  was  anathema  to  these  young 
men,  and  "little  navy"  men,  Socialists,  labor  men  and 
Radicals,  worse  than  traitors.  How  sincere  they 
were  in  their  desire  to  defend  the  empire  against  all 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  47 

comers !  They  were  of  the  stuff  which  makes  the 
most  rigid  brand  of  permanent  official. 

Just  before  going  home  to  dress  for  dinner  Sir 
Alfred  thought  he  might  write  a  letter  to  the  St. 
Stephen's  Gazette  in  which  he  could  ask  some  per- 
tinent questions  about  the  harbor  at  the  Orkneys. 
He  was  a  great  letter  writer;  usually  he  signed  his 
letters.  But  this  he  thought  he  would  not  sign. 
Clinton's  expose  of  the  members  of  the  armament 
group  was  too  recent.  After  his  bath  he  called  his 
secretary,  and  while  dressing  he  dictated  a  few  lines 
on  the  subject,  enclosed  it  with  a  private  note  to  the 
editor  and  posted  it. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  was  spent  in  eating  and 
talking,  drinking  and  smoking.  The  dinner  for  eight 
was  a  great  success,  interrupted  only  once  by  a  divi- 
sion on  swine  fever.  Sir  Alfred  voted  for  the  Gov- 
ernment because  the  speech  of  the  member  for 
Sportshire  revealed  the  incompetence  of  the  minister 
for  agriculture. 


CHAPTER  VI 

COUNT  Herbert  Von  Hoist  was  the  son  of  Eliz- 
abeth Martindale,  the  daughter  of  the  famous 
Lady  Martindale  who  was  a  close  friend  of  the 
old  queen.  His  father  when  a  young  man  was  at- 
tached to  the  Germany  Embassy  in  London.  When 
he  inherited  the  family  estates  in  Thuringia,  he  re- 
turned to  England,  and  after  a  sojourn  there  of  three 
years  he  married  Elizabeth.  Her  children  were 
brought  up  in  Germany  until  they  were  old  enough 
to  go  to  English  public  schools.  Herbert,  the  eldest, 
finished  his  university  career  in  England,  though  he 
found  time  for  his  course  of  service  in  the  German 
army.  All  his  tastes  were  thoroughly  English:  hunt- 
ing, shooting,  yachting,  golfing  and  racing.  He  spoke 
English  without  an  accent.  He  was  a  favorite  in  all 
official  circles.  He  was  rich,  very  rich.  His  town 
house  in  Mayfair  Square  was  a  fine  establishment, 
and  his  hunting-box,  Wilmslow  Lodge,  was  one  of  the 
best  equipped  in  the  shires. 

Surely  no  friendship  ever  was  so  true  as  that  of 
Von  Hoist  and  Edward  Horton-Birkett.  Before 
Edward  became  engaged  to  Clarice  they  were  called 
"the  inseparables."  Edward's  regimental  duties  had 
always  left  him  plenty  of  time  to  be  in  and  about 
London.  Lady  Horton-Birkett  called  them  the  "old 
cronies";  indeed,  Edward  never  got  on  with  his 
brothers  so  well  as  he  did  with  Von  Hoist.  Crow- 
ington  was  like  a  second  home  to  the  young  German 

48 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  49 

nobleman,  and  through  the  friendship  of  the  young 
men  Von  Hoist's  mother — my  adorable  mother,  he 
called  her — came  to  regard  Lady  Horton-Birkett  as  a 
kind  sister.  When  she  was  in  England  for  the  coro- 
nation she  spent  some  weeks  at  Crowington  and  got 
to  know  its  family  very  well.  Evelyn  Mary  was  then 
sixteen  years  old,  a  beautiful  girl,  a  Willis  from  top 
to  toe.  Von  Hoist's  mother  was  quick  to  notice  the 
predilection  of  her  son  for  that  charming  maid.  The 
new  golf  links  had  just  been  opened  at  Press  Heath. 
There  day  after  day  Count  Herbert  played  during 
that  hot  summer  two  rounds  a  day  with  Evelyn.  She 
was  then  an  exceptionally  good  player.  In  the  hunt- 
ing field,  having  almost  grown  up  in  the  saddle,  she 
could  give  him  a  lead  anywhere  over  the  county. 

Sir  Alfred  paid  little  or  no  attention  to  the  matings 
of  his  family,  that  was  something  he  left  entirely  to 
his  wife.  But  he  did  consider  their  financial  future. 
So  when  he  went  to  Germany  with  the  Better  Rela- 
tions Committee  in  1910,  he  induced  Count  Herbert's 
father  to  take  a  place  on  the  board  of  directors  of  the 
German  firm  of  the  Haigh  Shell  and  Bullet  Com- 
pany. Therefore,  the  families  were  united  indus- 
trially and  financially.  When  the  plant  was  put  down 
in  Austria,  an  extension  of  the  German  branch  of  the 
firm,  old  Von  Hoist  used  his  influence  with  the  Gov- 
ernment and  joined  that  board  of  directors.  Sir 
Alfred  often  stayed  with  the  old  gentleman  when  he 
visited  Germany,  but  being  a  plain  British  business 
man,  the  festivities  arranged  by  his  host  were  lost 
on  him.  Great  dramatic  and  operatic  performances 
left  him  cold,  and  the  artistic  guests  who  assembled 
at  the  great  house  in  Berlin  failed  to  draw  from  Sir 


50  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Alfred  any  particular  interest  in  music,  pictures  and 
literature.  Though  they  spoke  English,  many  of 
them  fluently,  Sir  Alfred  never  seemed  to  rise  to  the 
occasion.  To  do  him  credit  he  was  now  so  well-off, 
he  held  so  high  a  position  in  industry,  politics  and 
religion,  the  meeting  of  the  great  ones  in  society  left 
him  unmoved.  He  felt  he  could  be  made  a  peer 
almost  any  time  he  wished. 

At  Whitsuntide  Sir  Alfred  had  been  unable  to 
take  a  holiday;  he  was  then  too  busy  floating  the 
Oporto  Company.  He  should  have  gone  to  the  Con- 
tinent to  see  how  the  Russian,  Austrian  and  German 
branches  of  the  firm  were  "getting  on" — just  to  see 
the  experts  connected  with  the  plants  in  those  coun- 
tries and  learn  the  latest  news  about  the  growth  of 
peace  budgets.  In  the  Commons  there  were  only  a 
few  unimportant  bills  to  be  dealt  with — none  he  was 
particularly  interested  in— -so  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
take  a  flying  trip  to  Russia,  through  Germany,  and 
return  by  Vienna.  In  Germany  he  spent  only  a  day 
with  the  manager  of  that  branch  and  then  hastened 
on  to  Petersburg.  When  he  left  that  city  he  was 
sorely  depressed.  Just  before  he  departed  he  took 
lunch  with  one  of  his  Russian  directors,  a  man  in 
the  know,  and  from  him  he  learned  there  was  going 
to  be  "a  devil  of  a  row  over  that  Serajevo  murder." 
The  Russian  told  him  pointedly  that  it  was  going  to 
be  very  complicated  business,  and  the  treaty  obliga- 
tions of  the  various  first-class  Powers  were  likely  "to 
draw  in  a  deuce  of  a  lot  of  countries."  Poor  Sir 
Alfred,  his  journey  to  Vienna  was  not  a  cheerful 
one.  Indeed  he  made  up  his  mind  several  times  to 
alter  his  plans,  cut  the  visit  to  Austria  out  and  rush 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  51 

back  to  England.  But  the  business  instinct  ruled 
strongly  in  him  and  he  carried  out  his  plan.  In 
Vienna  his  worst  fears  were  confirmed.  There  they 
told  him  that  a  row  could  not  be  very  well  averted. 
To  his  amazement  when  he  reached  England  no  one 
seemed  to  have  the  faintest  conception  of  what  was 
going  on  on  the  Continent.  The  House  was  in  ses- 
sion when  he  got  back,  and  Ireland  seemed  to  be  the 
chief  topic  of  conversation.  He  thought  of  calling 
a  meeting  of  the  directors  of  the  company,  but  the 
absence  of  war  feeling  at  home  put  him  off,  then 
after  a  week-end  down  at  Crowington  he  put  the  ugly 
rumors  of  Petersburg  and  Vienna  out  of  his  mind. 
When  he  got  to  the  House  on  Monday,  July  twenty- 
seventh,  the  foreign  secretary  was  questioned  about  the 
Servian  affair,  but  from  his  reply  there  seemed  to  be 
no  reason  for  alarm.  Servia  was  a  long  way  off.  True, 
the  Russian  and  Austrian  interests  in  his  business 
were  affected,  but  the  threatened  storm  might  blow 
over. 

He  stuck  closely  to  the  House  of  Commons  all  that 
week ;  his  anxiety  deepened  from  day  to  day,  and  when 
the  House  rose  on  Friday,  July  thirty-first,  he  had  not 
the  heart  to  go  to  Crowington  for  the  week-end. 

The  Horton-Birkett  family  during  the  last  week  in 
July  were  very  busily  engaged,  and  one  of  the 
strangest  things  in  that  anxious  week  was  the  utter 
remoteness  of  Sir  Alfred  from  the  rest  of  his  people. 
Edward  John  had  received  his  marching  orders  on 
Wednesday,  the  twenty-ninth.  His  regiment  was  to 
entrain  for  a  south  coast  seaport  next  morning.  Cla- 
rice at  Clungford  received  a  telegram  telling  her  to 


52  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

leave  by  the  next  train  and  meet  Edward  at  Euston 
Station.  There  he  met  her  on  the  platform.  They  had 
dinner  at  the  hotel,  and  she  saw  him  off  at  Waterloo 
by  a  late  train. 

"Don't  think  it'll  be  much,  old  girl,"  he  said. 
"Don't  look  so  glum.  A  bit  startling,  I  know,  to  call 
you  up  to  town  like  this.  But  you  never  know,  you 
know.  Plans  may  be  put  off  for  a  bit.  Damned  if 
I  know  what  they're  up  to." 

She  did  not  lose  her  nerve,  but  when  he  spoke  of 
their  plans  being  disarranged,  she  felt  a  bit  teary. 
Still  she  was  her  father's  daughter,  and  she  kept 
saying  to  herself,  "Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,"  her 
father's  old  phrase.  It  was  the  uncertainty,  the  mys- 
tery, which  puzzled  her  and  made  her  feel  sick. 
When  the  undemonstrative  Edward  took  her  in  his 
arms,  the  moment  before  the  train  began  to  move,  she 
felt  as  if  she  would  scream  out,  "Don't  go  until  they 
tell  you  what  it's  about."  Her  father  had  always 
known  when  he  was  ordered  off  to  fight  what  it  was 
about.  Her  father  always  knew  pretty  nearly  where 
the  fight  would  take  place,  and  the  enemy  he  would 
be  called  upon  to  attack.  A  thousand  thoughts  came 
rushing  into  her  mind.  She  clenched  her  hands, 
and  stood  riveted  to  the  spot  as  the  train  moved  away. 
There  she  stood  and  watched  the  red  tail  light  on  the 
guard's  van  until  it  passed  out  of  sight.  How  she 
got  back  to  the  Euston  Hotel  she  could  not  say. 
Whether  she  walked  or  rode  she  did  not  know  when 
she  woke  up  next  morning.  The  journey  back  to 
Clungford  was  a  heart-breaking  business. 

"Theirs  not  to  reason  why."  The  phrase  invaded 
her  mind  and  took  possession  of  it.  It  thumped  in  her 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  53 

brain,  repeated  and  seemed  to  keep  time  with  the 
train  xas  it  jolted  over  the  rail  joints.  "Theirs  not  to 
reason  why."  Suddenly  she  thought  it  was  the  most 
senseless  phrase  she  ever  heard.  Was  the  soldier's 
the  only  calling  that  must  not  reason  why  ?  She  pon- 
dered the  question  for  an  hour  without  avail.  The 
more  she  thought  of  it  the  more  confused  her  mind 
became.  Would  they  obey  if  they  really  knew  what 
it  was  all  about?  Was  there  danger  in  reason? 
Danger  to  whom?  Was  an  army  a  collection  of  rea- 
sonless beings?  Impossible!  Her  father  was  a  sol- 
dier and  he  was  certainly  a  level-headed  man.  Still 
she  could  not  get  the  stupid  phrase  out  of  her  mind ; 
it  stuck  there  for  many  days  and  made  her  very 
unhappy. 

Von  Hoist  had  spent  some  happy  weeks  yachting 
on  the  west  coast  of  Scotland.  When  the  yacht  put 
into  Campbelton  on  Thursday,  the  thirtieth,  Von  Hoist 
had  not  seen  a  newspaper  for  a  week,  nor  had  he  re- 
ceived any  letters  for  ten  days.  He  and  his  friends 
went  ashore  to  have  a  day's  golf  on  the  famous  links. 
At  the  club  house  he  picked  up  a  newspaper  two 
days  old  and  the  news  from  abroad  was  so  serious 
he  was  profoundly  shocked.  He  was  so  alarmed  he 
asked  his  friends  to  give  up  the  idea  of  golfing  and 
take  him  at  once  to  the  nearest  port  on  the  mainland. 
It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he  telegraphed  to 
his  secretary  in  London  to  leave  with  all  corre- 
spondence and  meet  him  at  Wilmslow  Lodge  that 
night  or  early  the  next  morning.  He  sent  two  tele- 
grams to  Evelyn;  one  to  her  London  address,  the 
other  to  Crowington.  After  some  work  on  a  railway 


54  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

guide  he  found  that  he  could  get  to  Crewe  on  the 
main  line,  thirty  miles  from  Wilmslow  Lodge,  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  telegraphed  to  the  bailiff 
at  Wilmslow  to  see  that  his  motor  met  the  train  at 
Crewe. 

Like  a  man  lost  in  a  strange  country  with  night 
coming  on,  he  wandered  about  the  streets  near  the  rail- 
way station.  He  bought  all  the  evening  editions  of 
the  newspapers,  glanced  at  the  latest  news,  every 
startling  line  sending  a  shaft  of  despair  into  his  soul. 
What  was  it  about?  Why  on  earth  should  the  mur- 
der of  the  archduke  set  all  the  nations  at  one  an- 
other's throats?  Nobody  went  to  war  when  the 
Servians  killed  their  king  and  queen.  And  what  on 
earth  had  Britain  got  to  do  with  the  affair?  Why 
were  the  streets  of  Glasgow  filled  with  soldiers 
marching  with  full  kit?  The  train  was  late  in  start- 
ing and  by  the  time  it  reached  Carlisle  it  was  nearly 
an  hour  late.  He  telegraphed  to  the  station  master 
at  Crewe  to  let  his  chauffeur  know  that  he  was  to 
wait  until  he  arrived. 

It  was  nearly  three  o'clock  when  the  motor  started 
with  him  for  Wilmslow  Lodge.  Twice  on  the  road 
the  car  had  to  pull  up  to  let  detachments  of  soldiers 
and  transport  wagons  pass.  Going  up  Combermere 
Hill  into  the  clear  still  night  with  the  heavens  droop- 
ing heavy  with  stars,  Von  Hoist's  eyes  took  in  the 
lovely  cool  mystery  straight  ahead  where  the  ribbon- 
like  strip  of  limestone  road  seemed  to  lose  itself  in 
the  sparkling  sky.  If  he  could  only  go  on  higher  and 
higher,  swifter  and  swifter,  right  into  the  bosom  of 
the  deep  blue  ocean  of  twinkling  worlds,  and  there 
find  Evelyn,  alone,  waiting,  ready  for  him,  the  world 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  55 

called  Earth  might  slip  from  its  place  and  go  crash- 
ing through  Eternity  for  all  he  cared.  On  him  fell 
a  weariness  that  crushed  him  as  the  car  shot  over 
the  brow  and  raced  down  toward  the  lights  of  Whit- 
church.  A  haze  lay  in  the  bottom  where  the  canal 
passed  round  the  town.  Ten  miles  more,  and  then 
Wilmslow,  and  Evelyn.  Would  she  be  there  waiting 
for  him? 

Dawn  sprang  up  like  a  frightened  doe  and  sped 
across  the  Staffordshire  Hills.  A  chill  breeze  blew 
over  the  heath  as  the  car  flashed  out  of  the  warm 
lane  of  high  hedges  and  big  trees.  Von  Hoist  drew 
up  a  rug,  and  pulled  his  cap  down.  Only  a  few 
miles  more  and  he  would  be  at  Wilmslow. 

The  gate  was  open,  and  lights  burning  in  the  dining- 
room.  His  secretary  ran  out  to  meet  him. 

"Miss  Evelyn ?" 

"In  the  dining-room,  Count." 

He  left  her  for  a  few  minutes  to  see  what  his 
secretary  had  brought  from  town.  Yes,  it  was  there. 
It  was  the  first  message  handed  to  him.  As  he  sat 
and  gazed  at  the  summons  he  seemed  to  shirk  and 
shrivel  up.  His  arms  lay  inert  in  his  lap,  his  head 
and  shoulders  bowed  lower  and  lower.  The  message 
from  his  father,  to  return  at  once,  was  sharp  and 
terse.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  nature  of  the 
order.  Nothing  was  said  about  the  army  or  war. 
No,  it  was  not  necessary. 

He  went  back  to  her.  He  closed  the  door  and 
leaned  heavily. against  it.  Evelyn  helped  him  to  a  stiff 
brandy  and  soda  and  got  him  to  a  chair. 

"I  know,  old  chap,"  she  whispered.  "It's  pretty 
hard,  isn't  it?  Edward  went  away,  God  knows  where, 


56  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

yesterday.  Clarice  sent  me  a  line  about  it.  What 
the  devils  are  up  to  beats  me." 

"Ed  gone?"  he  said.    '"Ed  gone?     Where?" 

"He  doesn't  know." 

They  were  silent  for  some  time.  She  nestled  at 
his  feet,  her  head  on  his  knees. 

"I  saw  dad  this  afternoon,  just  before  I  came 
down,  at  the  House,"  she  said,  looking  at  the  ferns  in 
the  fireplace.  "What  do  you  think  he  said?" 

"What?" 

Eagerly  he  asked  for  any  bit  of  hope. 

"I  was  a  lucky  girl." 

"Lucky!  Why  lucky?" 

"Lucky  I  hadn't  married  you." 

He  was  silent  trying  to  guess  the  meaning. 

"Don't  you  see?  I'd  be  German." 

"German,"  he  echoed. 

"Yes.  If  I'd  married  you."  She  looked  at  him 
with  eyes  full  of  yearning. 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  he  cried  in  alarm.  "Oh, 
God,  Cricket,  what  shall  we  do?" 

"Hush,  hush,  don't,  Herbert." 

She  saw  the  look  of  horror  in  his  eyes  and  fiercely 
she  threw  her  arms  about  him.  She  clutched  him  and 
pressed  his  face  to  her  breast  as  if  she  would  hide 
him  from  the  terror  gathering  about  them. 

"I'll  not  let  you  go.  You're  mine.  I'll  not  let  you 
go.  You  belong  to  me,"  she  murmured  with  deep 
conviction,  certainty  in  her  tone. 

She  raised  his  head  and  kissed  him  over  and  over 
again.  Kisses  full  of  fire. 

He  rose  and  put  her  away  firmly,  gently.  She 
remained  on  her  knees  and  watched  him  go  to  the 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  57 

far  end  of  the  room  where  strange  shadows  lay.  They 
stared  at  each  other  for  some  time.  His  eyes  shone 
strangely,  she  thought,  out  of  the  darkened  corner 
where  he  stood.  She  spread  our  her  arms  suppliantly, 
but  he  did  not  move.  Then  she  threw  herself  down 
on  the  rug  and  cried,  "What  a  rotten  game  it  is !" 

After  a  while  she  told  him  the  fleet  sailed  from 
Weymouth  on  Monday,  and  men  "in  the  know"  said 
we  were  in  it.  Her  father  had  heard  Britain  could 
not  keep  out  if  Russia  and  Austria  began.  For  Rus- 
sia would  drag  France  in,  France  would  drag  Britain 
in,  and  Austria  would  drag  Germany  in.  She  men- 
tioned the  names  of  several  army  men  who  had  said 
good-by  to  their  sweethearts.  Her  dad  was  "rotten 
gloomy"  about  it  all. 

"So  we  are  to  fight  against  one  another?"  he  mut- 
tered. "We  are  to  go  out  and  kill  our  friends — 
French  friends,  Russian  friends,  British  friends? 
Why?  What  for?" 

"What  for?  Well,  old  chap,  nobody  knows.  It's 
the  new  way  of  doing  business.  When  do  you  leave  ?" 

"By  the  first  train." 

"Nine  fifty,  eh  ?"  She  glanced  at  the  clock.  "Five 
hours  yet.  I  supposed  it's  so  long  since  you  served 
in  the  army,  you  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  Queer, 
isn't  it?  And  you're  as  British  as  anything  I  ever  saw." 

"Mother,  you  know." 

"Dear  old  Adorable.  Her  heart  will  break  over 
this.  Well,  may  God  have  no  mercy  on  the  crowd 
that's  brought  this  about." 

She  rose  and  stood  erect.  Her  hair  fell  down 
about  her.  He  had  unconsciously  loosened  the  hair- 
pins. 


58  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE      x 

"Don't  you  agree?  Herbert!  Whether  German, 
British,  Austrian,  French,  or  Russian!" 

"Yes,  I  agree.  It's  awful  to  know  nothing!  It's 
maddening." 

"Five  hours.  That's  all.  And  I  am  lucky " 

She  broke  off  suddenly. 

"Don't,  Evelyn,  my "    He  went  to  her. 

"Herbert,  I  disliked  my  mealy-mouthed  father 
when  I  left  him  yesterday." 

She  rambled  for  some  time  from  one  subject  to 
another,  giving  him  bits  of  information  she  had 
learned  in  town. 

"I  wonder  if  the  old  queen  was  German  after  she 
married  Prince  Albert?  Funny.  Herbert,  take  me 
with  you,"  she  said  suddenly,  as  she  took  hold  of  his 
arm  and  put  it  around  her. 

"Oh,  if  I  could— if  I  dare!    Don't,  Cricket!" 

"Why!    You  must  go,  mustn't  you?" 

"Must?     Of  course." 

"Couldn't  you  take  me  to  Adorable?  She's  Eng- 
lish!" She  looked  into  his  eyes.  "Or  is  she  Ger- 
man? Which?" 

"German,  Cricket.     She  married  a  German." 

"Well,  if  they  can  make  a  German  of  Adorable 
they  can  make  me  one." 

"Sweetheart,  you  don't  know  what  you  ask. 
There's  going  to  be  war — France  and  Russia  will  be 
against  us — and  England,  too,  perhaps.  Here  you 
will  be  safe.  This  is  an  island.  No,  you  must  stay 
here.  But,  you'll  wait,  Cricket.  You'll  be  ready 
when  I  come  back?" 

She  shook  her  head  slowly  from  side  to  side  as 
he  spoke. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  59 

"No,  no,  I  am  not  going  to  wait." 

"Cricket !" 

"I  mean  it.  I  mean  it  absolutely.  I  am  going  to 
be  your  wife,  Herbert.  Wait."  She  put  her  hand 
over  his  lips.  "I  thought  it  all  over  in  the  train, 
motoring  here  from  Minsterley,  here,  for  hours  be- 
fore you  came.  It's  not  any  use  arguing  with  me. 
If  governments  can  do  desperate  things — why 
shouldn't  we " 

He  took  her  hand  away  from  his  mouth  and 
pressed  it  against  his  head. 

"But,  darling,  I  must  leave  by  the  first  train " 

"I  know." 

"Wouldn't  I  give  my  soul — everything  in  this 
world — to  marry  you?" 

"Yes.     And  you  will." 

"When  it  is  over." 

"To-night." 

"Evelyn!" 

There  was  no  mistaking  her  meaning.  Her  face 
shone  full  on  him,  her  firm  lips,  her  wide  open  eyes, 
told  him  clearly  she  was  firmly  resolved  to  give  her- 
self. 

"If  marriage  to  you  in  time  of  peace  would  make 
me  German  in  time  of  war,  then  let  us  dispense  with 
ceremony.  I  am  what  I  am,  and  nothing  can  make 
us  enemies.  We  put  off  our  wedding  until  Ed  and 
Clarice  had  theirs.  Now  when  you  go  I  want  to 
know  I  am  your  wife." 

Her  words  were  those  of  a  girl,  but  her  poise  was 
that  of  a  woman  fighting  for  all  she  loved  in  the  world. 

"Let  us  defy  the  whole  rotten  system,"  she 
whispered,  and  flung  herself  full  upon  him. 


60  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

They  went  up  to  town  by  the  nine  fifty.  Von  Hoist 
had  reserved  a  compartment.  The  morning  was  so 
beautifully  clear  and  warm  it  seemed  like  blasphemy 
to  think  of  war. 

"You  have  made  it  a  million  times  harder, 
Cricket" 

"No,  no.  It  is  as  it  should  be.  Now  I  can  never 
be  any  one  else's.  That's  all  that  matters,"  she  mut- 
tered passionately. 

They  went  to  Mayfair  Square.  She  would  not 
listen  to  his  suggestion  about  a  special  license  and  a 
registrar.  He  said  he  would  put  off  going  until  the 
last  moment,  but  she  was  obdurate.  He  left  Liver- 
pool Street  that  evening,  and  when  the  train  had 
passed  out  of  sight  she  got  into  his  car  and  went  to 
Horton  House  to  pack.  In  the  hall  she  met  her 
father. 

"Well,  Cricket,"  he  exclaimed,  "where  have  you 
been?" 

"Seeing  Herbert  off." 

"Oh!  Has  he  gone?     Ordered  back,   eh?" 

"Yes,  he's  gone,  dad." 

"Poor  Cricket,  cheer  up.  Let's  hope  for  better 
days.  Are  you  very  disappointed?" 

"No,  not  very " 

She  looked  him  up  and  down,  slowly,  with  deep 
sarcasm  in  her  eyes. 

"Good.  I'm  glad  to  hear  that.  Perhaps  it's  just 
as  well  you  didn't  marry— 

"Marry,"  she  snapped.  "We're  married  all  I 
want  to  be." 

He  disliked  enigmatic  phrases.  But  her  attitude 
roused  his  curiosity. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  61 

"Not  married  enough  to  be  German,  but  married 
enough  to  be  his,"  she  said,  as  she  left  him. 

He  watched  her  go  up-stairs  until  the  last  glimpse 
of  her  heel  disappeared. 

"Very  strange,"  he  muttered,  as  he  got  into  his 
car. 

It  was  Black  Friday.  The  House  rose  about  five 
o'clock  for  the  week-end.  Sir  Alfred  made  his  way 
to  the  Hotel  Cosmopolis  where  he  was  to  take  the 
chair  at  the  dinner  given  by  the  Turkestan  Mission- 
ary Society.  As  he  sat  in  the  car  he  pondered  Eve- 
lyn's cryptic  sentences,  but  could  make  no  sense  of 
them.  He  tapped  his  pocket  to  make  sure  the  notes 
of  his  speech  were  there.  Suddenly  he  wondered 
where  his  wife  was — at  Crowington  or — he  remem- 
bered. She  had  gone  to  York  with  Harold  to  the 
Church  Conference.  And  Robert — where  was  he? 
Of  course,  in  Ireland.  At  the  Curragh.  Would  he 
have  to  go?  Perhaps  not.  Ireland  was  unsettled. 
Fred  was  still  at  Oxford.  So  he  turned  them  over 
in  his  mind  just  as  he  gave  a  mental  tick  to  his  en- 
gagements when  starting  off  for  a  busy  day.  There 
was,  however,  one  he  had  not  ticked.  He  took  his 
cigar  from  his  mouth  with  a  sharp  movement  and 
sat  up  straight.  Ellen !  He  had  forgotten  Ellen.  In 
Germany.  Dear,  dear,  dear.  That  was  embarrassing. 
What  on  earth  was  she  doing  there?  To  be  in  Ger- 
many— of  all  places!  Silly  girl.  Would  she  know 
enough  to  get  away  in  time?  The  car  was  passing 
down  Cockspur  Street.  He  popped  his  head  out  and 
told  the  chauffeur  to  call  at  Charing  Cross  tele- 
graph office. 


62  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

He  wrote  a  carefully  worded  message  to  Ellen,  tell-/ 
ing  her  to  return  at  once,  and  addressed  it  to  her 
lodgings  in  Dresden. 

"Can't  tell  when  this  will  go,  sir,"  the  clerk  said. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Transmission  is  very  slow — getting  slower  every 
hour.  All  wires  are  blocked." 

"Good  gracious!  Really.  You  surprise  me.  I 
am  a  member — Sir  Alfred  Horton-Birkett — " 

"Yes,  Sir  Alfred,  I  recognized  you." 

"Well,  that  is  to  my  daughter." 

'Til  do  the  best  I  can,  Sir  Alfred." 

The  dinner  was  heavy  and  the  company  stodgy. 
No  one  seemed  to  be  able  to  think  of  the  work  in 
Turkestan.  Sir  Alfred's  speech  was  dull — he  felt  it' 
was  out  of  place.  The  company  parted  at  ten  o'clock, 
and  all  were  glad  to  reach  the  streets  where  they 
could  read  "extras." 

When  he  reached  home  a  telegram  from  the  man- 
ager of  the  London  office  was  on  his  desk.  He 
opened  it 

"Headquarters  orders  necessitate  day  and  night 
work.  Working  overtime  to-night.  Calling  to-morrow 
at  nine  to  see  you." 


CHAPTER  VII 

HE  asked  for  Evelyn  when  he  reached  his  house 
and  learned  that  she  had  gone  to  Sportshire. 
Her  maid  said  Miss  Evelyn  had  left  word  for  all 
messages  to  be  sent  to  Wilmslow  Lodge. 

All  his  people  were  away.  He  was  alone  in  the 
great  house  with  the  servants.  No,  he  did  not  care 
for  any  supper,  only  a  whisky  and  soda.  He  told 
the  butler  he  would  not  require  him  any  more.  Past 
the  house  ran  a  boy  shreaking,  "Extra,  extra  special 
edition."  The  butler  moved  so  slowly,  Sir^  Alfred 
rushed  impatiently  past  him  and  flung  the  front  door 
open.  He  stood  on  the  top  of  the  steps  shouting, 
"Boy,  boy,  boy."  Iif  the  stop  press  column  he  read  a 
message  from  Paris  stating  that  a  great  crowd  of 
fifty  thousand  persons  assembled  in  Berlin  before  the 
Imperial  Palace.  The  emperor  appeared  at  the 
window,  and  said  to  the  crowd.  "This  is  a  dark  hour 
for  Germany.  The  sword  is  being  forced  into  her 
hands."  He  threw  his  cigar  away  and  wandered 
aimlessly  through  the  large  rooms.  How  desolate, 
how  empty,  how  cheerless  everything  looked.  A 
heavy  shower  of  rain  fell  and  the  sound  of  it  sent 
a  shiver  through  him.  Wearily,  heavily,  he  went  up- 
stairs to  bed. 

His  room  on  the  southwest  corner  of  the  house 
overlooked  a  garden  fronting  on  Park  Lane.  He 
propped  himself  up  in  bed  and  tried  to  read  from 
the  Psalms.  He  dozed  off  in  an  awkward  position. 

63 


64  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

He  lay  there  sweating  profusely  for  some  time.  The 
crash  of  a  heavy  motor-car  bounding  over  a  rut  in 
the  road  woke  him  with  a  terrifying  start.  When, 
his  mind  was  clear  he  caught  the  sound  of  harsh! 
grating  clutches  of  motors  as  the  traffic  turned  the 
corner  to  rush  up  toward  Paddington.  As  he  listened 
it  seemed  to  him  that  the  night  was  humming  with 
the  dreadful  discordances  of  feverish,  bustling  ac- 
tivity. The  sounds  were  near,  and  then,  like  a  fall- 
ing cadence  of  some  agitato  fortissimo,  the  wailing, 
moaning,  creaking  wagons  with  their  sounds  died 
away  into  the  dull  throbbings  of  the  night.  He  ar- 
ranged his  pillows  and  again  composed  himself  for 
sleep,  but  he  was  never  so  wide  awake  in  bed.  He 
wished  his  wife  was  near,  she  was  so  calm,  so  cer- 
tain about  things.  While  his  mind  dwelt  on  her  he 
became  conscious  of  the  tramp  and  slither  of  troops 
passing  the  house.  How  long  had  that  been  going 
on,  he  wondered.  Yes,  they  were  at  the  corner  in 
Park  Lane.  Guns,  too;  he  could  hear  the  clank  and 
rattle  of  the  loose  metal  wheels.  Schr-tramp,  schr- 
tramp,  schr-tramp,  the  boys  were  marching.  There 
was  something  sinister  in  that  sound  of  dragging 
heels  on  the  gritty  pavement.  He  began  to  loathe  the 
noise.  He  felt  as  if  they  were  marching  into  his 
soul.  He  could  not  lie  there  and  listen  to  it,  he  could 
not  endure  the  torture  of  that  sound.  He  tumbled 
out  of  bed  and  paced  up  and  down  the  room.  "Halt !" 
an  officer  cried.  The  command  was  taken  up  all 
down  the  lines.  Then  the  scamper  of  a  prancing 
horse,  its  chains  rattling,  and  the  clanking  of  a  saber 
became  the  dominant  note.  Then  all  was  silence  for 
a  moment  until  his  ears  caught  again  the  dull  roar 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  65 

of  the  traffic  in  the  streets  beyond.  So  he  spent  the 
night,  and  when  morning  came  he  was  a  sad  and 
wearied  wreck. 

After  a  very  light  breakfast  he  thought  he  would 
like  to  go  to  church.  He  had  lost  count  of  the  days 
and  thought  it  was  Sunday.  Strangely  enough  he 
had  forgotten  to  look  for  the  morning's  newspapers.. 
He  had  got  out  of  bed  on  the  wrong  side.  Habit 
was  deserting  him.  He  turned  and  saw  them  all  laid 
in  perfect  order  upon  the  little  table  near  his  chair. 
Into  his  mind  there  crept  the  thought  as  he  glanced 
at  the  journals  that  most  of  the  editors  of  Europe 
seemed  to  be  bent  on  having  war.  Yet  the  London 
party  prints  gave  no  indication  of  danger  to  Britain. 
Was  he  going  to  be  left  alone  all  the  weary  week-end 
in  London?  After  the  interview  with  his  business 
manager  who  was  full  of  nervous  energy,  he  feared 
the  worst.  The  orders  received  from  the  Government 
left  no  doubt  in  his  mind  that  Britain  was  com- 
mitted to  .obligations  of  war.  And  yet  no  one  had 
even  suggested  what  was  the  casus  belli.  He  went 
to  a  Turkish  bath  and  spent  the  morning  there,  and 
afterward  he  walked  over  to  the  club  for  lunch, 
not  the  club  on  the  Embankment,  but  to  that  dull 
place  in  Pall  Mall,  the  charnel  house  of  all  Liberal 
ideas.  Still,  he  thought  he  might  find  there,  among 
the  notabilities  of  torified  Liberals,  some  men  who 
would  have  some  accurate  information  as  to  Britain's 
true  position.  The  first  man  he  ran  into  was  his  old 
friend,  Lord  Parkgate. 

"Ah,     Birkett,     that     you?"     Parkgate     squeaked. 
"What  did  I  tell  you?" 

Sir  Alfred  would  rather  have  met  the  devil. 


66  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Can  you  tell  me  whether  we  are  so  heavily  armed 
that  war  is  an  impossibility?"  his  lordship  asked, 
with  sarcastic  stress  on  each  word. 

"So  you  think  war  can  not  be  averted?"  Sir  Al- 
fred asked  in  reply. 

"Think  it  can  not  be  averted!  I'm  damn  sure  it 
can  not  be  averted,  and  so  are  you,  Birkett — I  can 
see  that  by  the  look  of  you.  All  my  lads  received 
their  orders  days  ago.  And  I  haven't  slept  a  con- 
founded wink  since  Wednesday  night.  From  mid- 
night till  five  in  the  morning  all  the  armies  in  cre- 
ation seemed  to  have  passed  under  my  bedroom 
window.  Well,  all  I  hope  is  that  you  chaps  have 
made  sure  of  the  safety  of  the  empire." 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
stamped  his  stick  on  the  pavement  and  passed  across 
the  hall  to  the  dining-room.  Sir  Alfred  changed 
his  mind  and  decided  to  go  to  the  French  cafe  at  the 
Savoy  for  lunch.  There,  certainly  there  would  be 
some  brightness  and  no  Parkgates. 

During  the  afternoon  he  looked  in  at  Downing 
Street  and  at  the  Foreign  Office.  He  tried  to  get  a 
telegram  through  the  Foreign  Office  to  Ellen. 
Strange  how  she  seemed  to  occupy  his  mind.  The 
Foreign  Office  people  told  him  that  they  had  piles  of 
messages  they  were  trying  to  get  through  for  the 
privileged  ones.  When  he  got  back  into  Whitehall, 
he  stood  on  the  corner  and  did  not  know  whether 
to  turn  to  the  left,  or  the  right,  or  go  straight  across 
the  street.  He  stood  there  without  purpose  for  sev- 
eral minutes.  He  didn't  see  a  soul  he  knew.  Men 
In  khaki  were  rushing  about  with  kit  bags  and  rifles. 
Three  or  four  little  boys  stood  around  him  shouting 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  67 

"Extra"  into  the  tails  of  his  frock  coat.  A  motor- 
bus  passed  and  his  eye  caught  the  advertisement  of 
a  play,  The  Great  Adventure.  He  hailed  a  taxi 
and  was  driven  to  the  Kingsway  Theater.  He  had 
seen  the  play  before,  but  he  bought  a  stall  and  took 
his  seat.  Anything  was  better  than  roaming  about 
the  streets  or  going  back  to  his  empty  lonely  house. 
After  a  few  scenes  he  was  delighted  to  find  that  the 
acting  of  Mr.  Ainley  and  Miss  Wynne  absorbed  his 
mind.  Later  over  a  cup  of  tea  at  the  Holborn  he 
pondered  what  he  could  do  with  himself  that  eve- 
ning. He  glanced  down  the  advertisement  column 
of  theaters  and  decided  to  go  to  the  Haymarket  to 
see  Driven.  It  was  Saturday.  He  would  not  leave 
anything  to  chance",  so  he  called  up  the  box  office 
and  telephoned  for  a  seat  to  be  reserved.  After 
the  first  act  he  left  the  theater,  not  because  the  play 
was  uninteresting,  but  because  he  was  not  in  the  mood. 
That  night  the  club  on  the  Embankment  was 
crowded.  Politicians,  novelists,  cabinet  ministers, 
Civil  Service  men,  journalists,  doctors,  nationalists, 
editors,  etc.,  the  motley  crowd  of  liberal  political 
thought  of  London  and  the  provinces.  He  had  not 
been  there  long  before  he  was  asked  to  join  a  Neu- 
trality League.  Though  he  could  not  accede  to  that 
request,  he  felt  he  would  have  given  all  he  possessed 
to  avert  war.  To  find  all  his  great  notions  of  an 
armed  peace  crumbling  to  dust  filled  him  with  des- 
pair. To  his  amazement  he  found  a  large  number 
of  the  members  extremely  anti-German  and  ready  for 
war.  The  atmosphere  of  the  club  depressed  him  and 
reluctantly,  when  he  got  out,  he  turned  his  steps  to- 
ward Horton  House. 


68  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

When  he  drew  near  it  he  surveyed  the  pile  and 
thought  of  his  marvelous  success  in  commerce.  "Give 
me  a  chance  to  rise,"  he  had  said  so  often  to  his 
parents  when  he  was  a  lad,  and  many  a  time  his 
mother  had  said  to  him,  "Alfred,  be  humble."  His 
parents  were  long  dead,  but  he  had  not  forgotten 
them.  Where  would  he  be  to-day  if  he  had  taken 
their  advice  and  gone  into  the  ministry  of  Christ? 
Maybe  he  would  have  a  chapel  in  some  small  coun- 
try town  with  only  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
a  year,  a  very  large  family  and  a  small  manse.  He 
shook  himself  to  escape  from  those  thoughts,  and 
passed  across  the  street  to  his  front  door. 

It  was  after  eleven  when  his  wife  arrived  and 
found  him  dozing  in  the  unread  library.  The  news 
they  had  received  at  York  that  morning  was  so 
alarming  that  she  lost  interest  in  the  proceedings  of 
the  conference  and  came  up  to  town.  He  awoke 
with  a  start.  His  gladness  on  seeing  her  surprised 
her  a  little.  They  were  a  well-matched  couple  and 
had  passed  a  fairly  smooth  married  life.  Their  in- 
terests of  course  ran  not  always  in  the  same  channel. 
His  great  business  affairs,  and  political  and  religious 
undertakings  took  him  away  from  her  a  good  deal. 
But  she  was  very  happy,  and  never  found  time  hang 
heavily  on  her  hands.  Alfred  did  not  care  much  for 
society,  and  her  bent  was  altogether  in  that  direction. 
She  was  proud  of  her  children;  they  had  done  tre- 
mendously well.  They  weren't  snobs,  she  thanked 
heaven. 

"How  is  Harold?"  he  asked. 

"Very  fit.  His  sermon  yesterday  was  quite  a  suc- 
cess. The  archdeacon  told  me  he  had  a  great  fu- 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  69 

ture  in  the  church.  But  I'm  afraid  Harold  will  be 
always  a  very  worldly  parson.  You  know,  dad,  I 
don't  like  that  crowd  in  Minsterley  he's  got  in  with. 
They  are — well,  rather  fast,  and  such  a  gossiping 
set  of  people." 

"I  know  'em,"  he  added.  "I  told  you,  Evie,"  he 
added  again.  "That  archdeacon!"  He  shook  his 
head.  "My  dear,  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  about 
your  church.  You  were  born  in  it,  and  it  can't  be 
helped.  But  hang  me,  some  ov'em  do  get  on  my 
nerves.  You  see!  They'll  make  a  proper  fool  of 
Harold  yet.  See  if  they  don't." 

His  wife  sighed  wearily. 

"He  may  improve,"  she  muttered.  "He's  young, 
you  know.  You  must  be  patient,  dad.  Still  I  do 
wish  he  were — somewhere  else — somewhere — where 
he  could  be  looked  after,  guided  by  a  really  good 
man." 

"He  seems  to  think  of  nothing  but  sport  and  pre- 
ferment at  present.  This  job's  too  easy,  Evie.  And 
that  archdeacon!" 

"I've  told  him  the  archdeacon  has  no  influence  at 
all,  but  Harold  thinks  he  has." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!"  Sir  Alfred  scoffed.  "Has 
he  let  the  archdeacon  have  any  money?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "But,  dear  me,  where's 
Evelyn?  Gone  to  bed?" 

"Evelyn.     Oh — er — she's  gone  to  Wilmslow " 

"Wilmslow.     Where's  Herbert?" 

"He's  er — ordered  back  to  Germany.  Went  last 
night." 

"What's  Evelyn  doing  at  Wilmslow?" 

"I  can't  make  out." 


70  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"The  poor  child  must  be  fearfully  upset.  Did  you 
see  Ed  before  he  went  away?" 

"No,  but  I  had  a  word  with  him  over  the  phone." 

"Poor  Ed,  he  sent  me  a  note.  He  thought  I  was  at 
Crowington.  Why  did  they  send  him  off  in  such  a 
hurry?" 

"They're  sending  everybody  off  in  a  hurry." 

"Have  you  heard  from  Robert?" 

"No.  I  s'pose  he's  at  the  Curragh.  Fred's  at 
Oxford.  But  I'm  a  bit  nervous  about  Ellen.  Don't 
like  her  being  in  Germany." 

"Don't  worry,  dear,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  ten- 
derly on  his  big  round  shoulders.  "Ellen  knows  how 
to  look  after  herself." 

"Yes,  I  know.  Great  girl,  Ellen!  But  I  wish 
I  had  looked  in  on  her  at  Dresden  when  I  was  on 
my  way  to  Vienna  a  week  ago." 

They  brought  some  food  in,  and  her  maid  handed 
her  a  large  packet  of  letters.  There  was  one  from 
Evelyn.  It  came  in  by  the  last  post. 

"Wilmslow  Lodge. 

"August  1st,  1914. 
"Dear  Mater; 

"I'm  here.  Got  Here  very  late  last  night  from 
Minsterley.  Herbert  went  away  yesterday  evening. 
I  saw  him  off.  Couldn't  let  him  go  without  making 
sure  that  we  were  tied  up  forever.  There  was  no 
time  to  get  married.  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  happy 
or  heart-broken — a  good  bit  of  both.  Now,  for 
heaven's  sake  don't  make  a  fuss.  I  am  going  to  stay 
here,  near  Clarice  who  is  with  me  now.  She  is 
bucking  up  tremendously.  Top  hole  in  a  driving  gale. 
Damn  war  and  everybody  that  sends  fellows  to  their 
death. 

"Cricket." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  71 

It  took  them  some  time  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  it 
all.  Cricket  was  the  baby  and  their  idol.  They  scarce- 
ly realized  that  she  had  grown  up. 

"She  doesn't  mean  it,  does  she?"  There  was  a 
tremor  in  his  voice.  His  lower  lip  fell,  and  he  hid 
his  eyes  from  his  wife. 

"They  were  deeply  attached,"  she  said.  "I  never 
saw  two  people  so  much  in  love.  Theirs  was  love. 
I  must  go  down  to  her  to-morrow." 

"Not  to-morrow,  dear,"  he  pleaded.  "Wait  at  any 
rate  until  Monday.  Nothing  can  be  done,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"No,  nothing,  but  I  shall  go  to-morrow.  I  must 
see  her.  I  wonder  why  she  did  it.  It  seems  so 
strange.  And  Herbert.  There's  some  mystery  about 
it.  When  did  you  see  her  last?" 

"Last  night." 

"Didn't  she  say  anything  then?" 

"Yes.  What  was  it?" 

Wearily  he  rested  his  head  on  his  arm  and  tried 
to  remember  what  Evelyn  said  to  him. 

"Something  about  not  married  enougK  to  be  Ger- 
man but  married  enough  to  be  his  wife." 

He  looked  rather  sheepishly  at  his  wife. 

"Not  enough  to  be  German?"  she  said  slowly. 

"Yes.   That  was  it,  I  think." 

It  began  to  dawn  on  Sir  Alfred  that  Evelyn  per- 
haps had  been  nettled  by  his  remark  about  her  being 
lucky  not  to  have  married  Herbert.  A  discomfort- 
ing notion  infected  him  that  his  silly  reference  to  the 
nationality  of  her  lover  had  put  the  idea  into  her  head 
to  flout  convention. 

"Some   silly  person   evidently  has   said  quite  the 


72  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

wrong  thing  to  her,"  his  wife  observed.  "She  is 
just  the  kind  of  girl  to  resent  anything  of  that  kind. 
Besides,  in  Herbert's  case  it  is  too  utterly  foolish 
for  words.  The  son  of  Elizabeth  Martindale,  an 
English  public-school  boy,  one  of  our  best  known 
university  men,  and  Ed's  dearest  friend.  German! 
The  idea." 

They  sank  into  themselves,  and  a  strange  silence 
fell  upon  them.  Each  tried  to  solve  the  puzzle  in 
Evelyn's  letter.  Vaguely  they  knew  what  had  hap- 
pened. Alfred  was,  however,  too  conscious  of  his 
own  blunder  to  give  way  to  anger.  A  tear  slipped 
down  his  nose,  and  trickled  along  one  of  the  heavy 
lines  in  parenthesis  over  his  mouth.  He  tasted  the 
salty  drop,  and  brushed  his  lips  with  the  back  of  his 
hand. 

"Awful,"  he  muttered. 

His  wife  sighed  wearily  and  poked  a  hairpin  out 
of  sight. 

"We've  let  her  have  her  own  way  far  too  much," 
she  said. 

They  were  stunned.  The  news  coming  after  so 
many  startling  events  found  them  without  the  energy 
for  demonstrative  grief. 

Sir  Alfred  lay  awake  most  of  the  night  thinking 
of  Evelyn  down  there  at  Wilmslow,  and  wondering 
what  she  thought  of  him.  The  noises  from  the 
street  of  tramping  troops  and  rushing  lorries  were 
nerve-racking  enough.  The  next  morning  after 
breakfast  he  went  with  his  wife  to  Euston  and  saw 
her  off  by  the  ten  o'clock  train.  Returning  to  his 
house,  his  motor  had  to  pull  up  to  let  a  regiment 
pass  down  Oxford  Street.  After  watching  the  troops 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  73 

for  some  time  he  was  struck  by  their  strange  de- 
meanor. They  were  whistling  Tipperary.  The  tune 
sounded  gay  enough,  but  the  faces  of  the  men  were 
full  of  anxiety.  The  morning  was  hot,  and  their  kits 
very  heavy.  Heavily  they  trudged  along,  going  God 
knows  where.  It  reminded  him  of  one  night  during 
the  railway  strike  when  he  saw  some  companies  of 
regulars  march  down  Euston  Road  to  take  charge  of 
the  great  railway  station.  He  thought  then  that  he 
had  never  seen  a  body  of  men  look  so  pale  and  sick. 
They  certainly  did  not  like  the  business  on  which  they 
were  bent.  The  memory  of  their  ghastly  faces  urged 
him,  in  the  debate  on  the  use  of  military  in  time  of 
strike,  to  rise  and  tell  the  House  what  he  had  seen, 
and  beg  the  Government  to  find  some  other  way  of 
trying  to  preserve  order  in  time  of  industrial  fer- 
ment. 

He  went  to  chapel.  Not  one  of  the  fashionable 
places  where  he  would  be  in  the  midst  of  numbers 
of  people  who  would  know  him,  he  went  to  a  chapel 
in  a  poor  district  on  the  south  side  of  the  river  where 
the  son  of  an  old  friend  of  his  was  trying  to  keep 
a  congregation  together,  and  to  grapple  with  the  re- 
ligious degeneracy  in  the  neighborhood.  The  preacher 
took  a  text  from  Ecclesiastes,  "Wisdom  is  better  than 
weapons  of  war:  but  one  sinner  destroyeth  much 
good."  When  the  service  was  over  he  made  his  way 
to  the  vestry  to  shake  hands  with  the  son  of  his  old 
friend.  And  there  he  found  him  in  conversation 
with  a  very  old  man.  The  minister  recognized  him 
at  once  and  placed  a  chair  for  him. 

"It  is  good  of  you,  Sir  Alfred,  to  come  over  here 
to  see  what  we're  doing." 


74  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"No,  thank  you,  I  won't  sit  down.  I  just  wanted 
to  tell  you  how  much  I  enjoyed  your  sermon." 

The  old  man  stood  off  and  peered  at  Sir  Alfred. 
He  cocked  his  head  to  the  left,  then  to  the  right,  he 
rubbed  his  spectacles  and  readjusted  them. 

"It  is  Sir  Alfred,"  he  exclaimed.  "It  is,  it  is.  The 
Lord  be  praised." 

Sir  Alfred  looked  inquiringly,  first  at  the  old  man, 
and  then  at  the  minister. 

"My  grandfather.     He's  over  eighty-five." 

"Really,  you  surprise  me,"  said  Sir  Alfred,  taking 
the  old  man's  hand. 

"Aye,  over  eighty-five.  God  has  been  good.  And 
now  He  gives  me  the  happiness  of  speaking  to  a 
righteous  man.  One  who  may  be  counted  on  to  send 
the  message  of  the  Prince  of  Peace  to  the  rulers 
and  the  statesmen  of  Europe.  Aye,  Sir  Alfred,  God 
bless  your  efforts  to  keep  the  nations  at  peace.  Come, 
let  us  fall  on  our  knees  and  ask  God  to  help  us." 

There  was  no  resisting  the  old  man.  The  minister 
and  his  grandfather  knelt  down,  and  the  old  man  be- 
gan to  pray.  Sir  Alfred  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
was  afflicted  with  rebellious  knees.  In  a  few  seconds 
he  suffered  acutely.  The  stuffy  vestry,  the  thundery 
heat  of  the  morning,  the  lack  of  sleep  and  utter  phy- 
sical weariness,  affected  him  strangely.  He  felt  sick. 
He  did  not  want  to  kneel  and  pray,  he  wanted  to 
get  into  the  air  outside.  A  feeling  of  anger  at  the 
presumption  of  the  old  man  came  and  passed  quickly, 
leaving  him  disgusted  with  himself.  And  when  he 
did  kneel  at  a  chair  near  the  door,  he  stretched  out 
his  hand,  turned  the  old  brass  knob  silently,  and 
opened  the  door  to  admit  some  air.  Old  men's 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  75 

prayers  are  long,  and  repetition  breeds  repetition.  Sir 
Alfred  was  so  often  placed  by  the  old  man  into  the 
hands  of  God  that  the  minister  was  obliged  to  inter- 
ject "Amens"  in  a  tone  of  finality  many  times.  When 
the  prayer  did  come  to  an  end,  Sir  Alfred  made  hur- 
ried adieux,  and  on  reaching  the  street  got  on  top 
of  the  first  bus  going  his  way. 

Lady  Horton-Birkett  reached  Minsterley  three 
hours  late.  Troop  trains  retarded  the  ordinary  traf- 
fic. When  she  found  there  was  not  a  car  for  hire 
in  the  town  her  disgust  knew  no  bounds.  She  got  on 
to  Crowington  by  telephone  from  the  chief  hotel  and 
asked  for  her  motor  to  be  sent  in  at  once.  It  was 
late  when  she  got  to  Wilmslow  Lodge.  Evelyn  had 
been  over  to  Clungford  with  Clarice  to  have  a  cup 
of  tea  with  her. 

"Why  didn't  you  go  to  Crowington?"  her  mother 
asked,  after  many  embraces. 

"Herbert  wanted  me  to  stay  here.  Don't  fuss, 
mater.  I'll  stay  here.  He  gave  the  place  to  me,  but 
no  one  was  to  know  about  it  until  we  were  married. 
Wilmslow  is  the  marriage  settlement" 

"But  the  servants?" 

"Never  mind,  dear.  My  maid  is  coming  here 
to-morrow." 

The  mother  fenced  skilfully,  to  learn  Evelyn's 
real  position,  without  much  success.  All  she  learned 
was  that  her  daughter  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
had  been  married.  No,  there  was  no  ceremony  of  any 
kind.  They  were  one,  but  she  was  still  an  English- 
woman. Yes,  she  and  Herbert  had  stayed  there  on 
Thursday  morning  just  as  if  they  were  husband  and 
wife. 


76  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"It  seems  to  me  everything  is  going  to  pieces," 
her  mother  muttered,  so  sadly.  "Your  father  looks 
so  old,  Evelyn,  and  he  is  worried  about  Ellen.  Have 
you  heard  from  her  lately?" 

"A  fortnight  or  so  ago.  Ellen  is  all  right,  mater. 
Don't  fuss.  If  war  does  break  out  she'll  go  to 
Adorable,  I  should  think.  I  wrote  to  her  yesterday 
and  told  her  what  a  wretched  state  we're  in." 

"I  wish  we  were  all  together.  It's  awful  for  a 
family  to  be  scattered  all  over  the  place  at  a  time  like 
this.  Ed  gone.  Robert  in  Ireland.  Ellen  in  Germany. 
And  Herbert " 

Evelyn  had  never  seen  tears  in  her  mother's  eyes 
before.  She  went  to  her,  and  took  her  in  her  arms. 
Evelyn  dried  her  eyes  and  soothed  her. 

"Never  mind,  mater,  you'll  have  to  look  after  me 
now.  I  shan't  go  far  away  from  Wilmslow.  You'll 
wait  for  Ed,  and  I'll  wait  for  Herbert.  We'll  wait 
down  here — you  at  Crowington  and  — just  here, 
until  the  war  is  pver,  and  they  come  back  to  us." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BENJAMIN  TONKS,  B.  A.,  was  the  principal 
speaker  at  the  open-air  demonstration  held  in 
Battersea  Park  on  Sunday,  August  second,  to  protest 
against  Britain's  intervention  in  a  European  war. 
Some  hundreds  of  men  and  women  gathered  round 
the  rostrum.  The  chairman  of  the  meeting  was  Mr. 
Nicholas  Garside,  the  Fabian  pamphleteer.  From 
his  place  he  could  see  fathers  and  mothers  reclining 
on  the  grass  while  round  about  them  their  children 
coursed  in  and  out  of  the  family  circle  playing 
games.  Numbers  of  wearied  creatures  lay  prone  on 
their  backs  in  the  sweltering  heat.  The  object  of  the 
meeting,  and  the  attitude  of  the  people  beyond  the 
bounds  of  the  meeting,  seemed  to  Mr.  Garside  poles 
apart.  The  wisdom  of  those  about  to  address  the 
meeting,  and  the  ignorance  of  those  lying  about  on 
the  grass  struck  him  as  being  so  contradictory  that 
he  began  to  doubt  the  reason  for  his  alarm.  The 
churches  had  been  called  on  to  preach  peace  that 
day,  but  the  comparative  few  who  attended  churches 
of  all  kinds  would  carry  little  or  no  weight  with  the 
Government.  The  real  danger  was  known  only  to 
a  couple  of  score  of  men.  Anyway,  now  Germany 
and  Russia  were  at  it,  what  hope  was  there  for 
Britain  ? 

Ben's  speech  was  the  best  he  ever  made,  but  it  was 
a  failure  all  the  same.  There  was  no  opposition — 
none  at  all.  He  felt  that  his  audience  was  sympa- 

77. 


78  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

tlietic,  but  there  was  no  response.  Save  for  a  hun- 
dred or  so  hard-headed  Radicals  near  the  platform, 
all  he  said  on  foreign  policy  and  armaments  was  lost. 
He  could  not  make  them  see  the  connection,  how  the 
one  fostered  the  other.  The  same  audience  would 
have  cheered  to  the  echo  any  speech  Ben  could  have 
made  on  domestic  issues.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his 
hearers  cared  nothing  for  foreign  policy^  or  he  had 
failed  to  convince  them  of  the  imminence  of  war. 
"You  are  islanders,  and  for  the  most  part  ignorant 
of  the  jeopardy  in  which  you  stand.  The  fleet  is  to 
you  an  impregnable  barrier  against  aggression,  but,  I 
warn  you,  if  we  go  into  this  war  we  might  suffer  ter- 
rible defeats  and  untold  hardships  though  not  one 
foreign  soldier  set  foot  on  our  shores."  He  brought 
every  rhetorical  gun  he  had  into  action  without  rous- 
ing them  out  of  their  apathy  or  ignorance.  The  reso- 
lution was  passed  unanimously,  but  without  enthusi- 
asm. At  question  time  matters  were  not  mended. 
"Why  should  we  go  to  war?"  "Who  are  we  going  to 
fight?"  "Is  it  not  a  dodge  of  the  capitalists  to  frighten 
us  into  conscription?"  and  so  on 

Ben  and  his  friends  left  the  park  sad  and  dis- 
couraged and  made  their  way  to  Whitehall.  Troops 
were  marching  across  Westminster  Bridge  to  Water- 
loo Station.  At  the  corner  of  Downing  Street  a 
crowd  of  reporters  watched  the  arrival  of  cabinet 
ministers  going  to  the  second  cabinet  meeting.  Ben 
had  a  few  words  with  Rennett  of  The  Elector, 
and  learned  from  him  that  it  was  only  a  question 
of  what  excuse  was  to  be  made  to  Parliament.  Sev- 
eral ministers  had  resigned,  so  it  was  rumored.  Hei 
gleaned  from  his  friends  making  notes  that  things 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  79 

were  just  as  bad  as  they  could  be.  He  was  taking 
leave  of  Rennett  when  Sir  Alfred  passed  down  the 
street.  Suddenly  his  mind  was  full  of  Ellen.  He 
had  never  spoken  to  Sir  Alfred,  but  straight  across 
the  street  he  went  and  stopped  him. 

"I'm  Tonks,  Sir  Alfred.  Benjamin  Tonks — from 
Crowington." 

"Oh!  Yes,  Mr.  Tonks,  eh?  Well?" 

"I'm  the  one  who  took  Ellen  home  from  Minster- 
ley  Show  years  ago,"  Ben  explained,  feeling  Sir  Al- 
fred was  so  absorbed  in  other  affairs  that  he  did  not 
clearly  understand.  In  a  moment  Sir  Alfred  grabbed 
his  hand  and  shook  it. 

"I  remember,"  he   said.   "I  heard  about  it.     Of 
course.     Where  are  you  going?" 
"  "I  was  going  to  get  a  cup  of  tea  before  attending 
a  meeting  at  Camden  Town " 

"Come  with  me,  do!  I  haven't  had  lunch.  News 
so  serious.  Terrible.  Let  us  jump  in  a  cab." 

He  hailed  a  taxi,  and  they  set  off  for  Horton 
House. 

"Let  me  see.  Are  you  the  Tonks  that  wrote  the 
novel  on " 

"Yes." 

"I  read  it.  Excellent.  Awful,  this  business,  isn't 
it?  I've  been  trying  to  get  through  to  my  daughter 
in  Dresden." 

"Dresden.  You  mean  Ellen.  She  isn't  in  Dres- 
den," Ben  said,  without  thinking  whether  Sir  Alfred 
knew  about  their  friendship. 

"Not  in  Dresden.     How  do  you  know?" 

"We  correspond.  She's  gone  to  Starnberg  for  a 
ramble  in  the  Austrian  Alps."  » 


80  /'A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Good  gracious!  Then  you've  heard  lately  from 
her." 

"A  week — ten  days  ago,"  Ben  said.  "She  wrote 
asking  me  to  forward  a  book,  saying  she  was  just 
leaving  Dresden  for  a  month's  holiday." 

"Indeed.  That's  bad.  I  telegraphed  to  her  to  re- 
turn home  at  once.  So  you  correspond.  Ellen  has 
many  literary  friends.  She's  been  away  from  home 
a  long  time  now.  She's  very  fond  of  Germany,  you 
know." 

During  tea  conversation  turned  on  foreign  policy, 
but  Sir  Alfred  soon  found  he  had  caught  a  tartar 
in  Ben.  Their  views  touched  at  no  point.  Sir  Alfred 
was  sure  Germany  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole 
affair;  Ben  thought  otherwise.  Sir  Alfred  believed 
in  an  armed  peace;  Ben  favored  non-resistance. 

"But  if  a  man  comes  up  and  slaps  you  on  the 
cheek?"  Sir  Alfred  asked. 

"In  the  case  of  a  man  I  should  ask  what  I  had 
done  to  offend  him." 

"Certainly,  that  would  be  most  proper,  most  Chris- 
tian-like, but " 

"Have  you  ever  been  struck,  Sir  Alfred — without 
provocation?"  Ben  inquired. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so." 

"Neither  have  I.     It  rarely  happens." 

"But  German  ambition " 

"What  about  Radical  ambition?  Think  of  Nation- 
alist ambition  in  Ireland!  That  is  fierce  enough, 
isn't  it?  Could  you  find  two  ambitions  so  fiercely 
opposed  as  Orange  Ulster  and  Catholic  Connaught? 
In  that  case  no  one  wants  war,  and  everything  will 
be  done  to  prevent  war.  Then  think  of  non-con- 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  81 

fertility's  ambition  to  disestablish  and  disendow  the 
Church.  Our  domestic  quarrels  are  not  beyond  set- 
tlement without  resort  to  arms,  and  they  are  deeper 
fundamentally  than  the  quarrels  of  nations.  These 
issues  concern  individuals  who  meet  every  day." 

Sir  Alfred  was  caught  by  the  ease  and  simplicity 
of  Ben's  method  of  presenting  his  case.  He  sat 
forward  and  listened  with  all  his  ears. 

"Forgive  me  if  I  say  there  is  a  fearful  lot  of  ar- 
rant nonsense  written  by  modern  historians  on  this 
subject.  Now,  where  is  there  a  clash  of  ideals  and 
ambitions  in  the  British  and  the  German  peoples? 
Not  Governments,  mind.  I  mean  the  ordinary  work- 
-a-day  men  and  women.  Do  they  know  anything  at 
all  about  the  quarrel?  Not  an  atom.  You  know 
that,  Sir  Alfred.  Why,  you  are  a  member  of  Par- 
liament, and  now  you  don't  know  why  a  single  regi- 
ment has  been  ordered  away." 

"Perfectly  true,   Tonks.     That's  undeniable." 

"But  you  do  know  about  Ireland.  And  you  cer- 
tainly know  the  case  for  disestablishment.  You  also 
know  why  there  is  fierce  labor  unrest  all  over  the 
kingdom." 

"I  see  your  point.  Yes.  But  I  can  not  see  how 
the  theory  of  non-resistance  can  be  put  into  practise 
in  Europe  as  things  are.  Nations  can  not  commit 
suicide,  Tonks." 

"No,  they  go  in  for  murder." 

"I  agree,  once  war  begins,"  Sir  Alfred  said.  "You 
are  quite  right,  it's  murder.  Another  cigarette.  Must 
you  really  go?" 

Ben  had  risen.  It  was  time  for  him  to  be  off  to 
his  meeting. 


82  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Do  come  and  see  me,"  Sir  Alfred  said,  as  he 
shook  his  hand.  "I  have  been  deeply  interested.  Let 
me  know  where  to  find  you." 

He  went  to  the  door  with  him. 

"I  was  just  like  you  when  I  was  your  age,"  Sir 
Alfred  said.  He  laid  his  hand  on  Ben's  shoulder 
and  patted  it  with  his  fingers.  "Our  ideas  change 
when  we  grow  old.  I've  often  thought  about  it, 
Tonks.  When  we  get  into  the  House,  rear  big  fami- 
lies, carry  great  industrial  responsibilities,  the  old 
political  zeal  seems  to  fade  away.  It's  strange — very 
strange.  Good-by." 

Ben  thought  of  taking  a  bus  to  Camden  Town, 
but  on  consideration  he  decided  to  walk;  it  was  such 
a  lovely  night.  They  could  begin  the  meeting  with- 
out him,  and  they  could  turn  him  on  to  speak  when 
he  got  there.  The  sun  was  setting,  and  Hyde  Park 
was  in  a  glow  of  mellow  light.  People  of  fashion 
glided  by  in  expensive  motor-cars.  Weary  mothers 
dragged  their  tired  children  along  the  pavement  to 
busses  going  east.  The  motley  crowd  of  Marble 
Arch,  on  a  fine  Sunday  evening,  swayed  to  and  fro; 
rich  and  poor,  high  and  low,  fashion  and  rags, 
pleasure  and  pain,  age  and  youth,  intermixed  at  the 
busy  corner.  Here  east  rubbed  shoulders  with  west. 
Ben  turned  down  Oxford  Street,  and  soon  became 
fascinated  with  the  thought  of  how  general  was 
the  practise  of  non-resistance.  The  shop-girl  in  her 
Sunday  clothes  who  submitted  to  the  slavery  of  the 
counter;  the  prostitute  who  never  raised  her  voice 
against  the  economic  system  which  forced  her  to  sell 
her  body;  the  hungry  child  who  accepted  stint  as  a 
part  of  its  life;  the  half -starved  men  and  women, 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  83 

old  and  young,  who  pottered  about  the  streets  day  and 
night  and  never  dreamed  of  taking  action  against 
the  upholders  of  privilege.  Everywhere,  on  every 
hand,  Ben  saw  non-resistance  practised  until  it  be- 
came a  habit  by  thousands  of  passers-by.  Out  of 
the  land  of  the  powerful  and  rich  he  passed  in  a  few 
minutes  into  the  by-ways  of  penury  and  filth.  He 
struck  across  the  narrow  ways  diagonally  to  Hamp- 
stead  Road.  Drunken  women,  unkempt  children, 
pale  girls,  shrunken  men,  noisy  youths,  without  pur- 
pose, hope  or  delight,  thronged  the  streets.  As  he 
went  farther  north,  away  from  the  main  thorough- 
fare, the  neighborhood  grew  worse.  The  hopelessness 
of  it  all  depressed  him.  Reform  seemed  to  be  mere 
trifling  with  the  dead  weight  of  misery.  Yet  he 
thought  the  miserable  found  some  enjoyment — spas- 
modic, truly — in  their  life.  Some  laughed,  others 
sang,  and  round  an  organ,  in  an  awful  street,  scores 
of  children  danced  merrily.  Even  some  elderly 
women  jigged  for  a  while  to  the  amusement  of  their 
men  looking  on.  At  a  corner  near  Cobden's  statue 
the  Salvation  Army  dispensed  prayer  and  song  with 
military  band  accompaniment  to  a  dozen  stragglers. 
Standing  aloof,  with  his  hands  in  his  empty  pockets, 
a  dirty,  ragged,  sick-looking  man  snickered  and 
jeered  at  the  Salvationist  praying  in  strident  tones. 

"The  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  dead,  you  fool,"  Ben 
heard  him  say. 

The  hall  was  packed  and  uncomfortably  hot.  He 
made  his  way  to  the  platform  and  was  called  on 
immediately  by  the  chairman  to  speak.  His  speech 
took  at  first  a  strong  line  against  armaments.  Then 
he  went  on  and  dealt  with  the  enormous  rise  in 


84  "A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

.*• 

prices  of  foodstuffs.  He  showed  how  private  pocket 
patriots  were  the  first  to  deliver  a  crushing  blow 
against  the  poor  and  needy  of  their  own  country. 
The  enemy  at  home  was  at  war  with  them  before 
we  heard  from  the  Government  the  name  of  the  ene- 
my abroad.  The  fleet  had  sailed — because  an  Aus- 
trian archduke  was  murdered.  Troops  were  as- 
sembling in  thousands — because  Austria  wished  to 
punish  Servia.  Then  he  told  them  what  he  had  seen 
as  he  came  along  to  the  meeting,  and  the  thoughts 
which  came  to  him  as  he  passed  along  the  streets. 
Was  there  not  enough  misery  in  Britain  without  add- 
ing the  cost  and  suffering  of  war?  Was  there  so 
little  industrial  and  social  evil  at  home  that  we  could 
afford  to  dabble  in  the  diplomatic  adventures  of 
Europe  ?  The  time  would  come  when  the  workers  and 
the  wretched  would  rise  against  the  rulers  and  decide 
to  look  after  their  own  affairs. 

The  audience  understood  the  speech  and  cheered 
him  enthusiastically  when  he  sat  down.  He  wished 
he  had  taken  that  line  in  the  afternoon  at  Battersea 
Park,  instead  of  trying  to  explain  the  balance  of 
power  and  foreign  affairs  to  men  who  had  very  little 
electoral  power,  seldom  a  real  balance  on  pay-day, 
and  a  notion  that  the  workers  of  foreign  countries 
were  worse  off  than  themselves. 

Down  in  the  gay  part  of  London  later  that  night 
Ben  roamed  the  street  to  see  if  there  were  any  Jin- 
goes abroad.  Round  about  Piccadilly  and  Leicester 
Square  would  be  the  locality  to  find  them  if  they 
were  at  all  exuberant.  Some  there  were,  very  few, 
indeed,  but  just  about  enough  to  help  the  Jingo 
journals  next  morning  to  refer  to  "great  demonstra- 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  85 

tions"  in  the  streets — about  a  score  or  two  of  ex- 
citable young  men  cheering  troops  going  to  the  rail- 
way station. 

How  the  Commons  and  the  country  were  swept 
into  the  strife  in  that  first  week  of  August  was  a 
miracle  in  tactics  more  wonderful  than  any  per- 
formed in  the  time  of  Joshua  or  Jonah.  How  Lib- 
eral newspapers  (and  Liberal  members  for  the  most 
part)  fell  into  the  trap  was  one  of  the  most  amaz- 
ing spectacles  ever  seen  in  an  "enlightened"  country. 

Sir  Alfred  was  anxious  and  depressed  on  Sun- 
day, the  second;  he  was  elated  and  full  of  fight  on 
Sunday,  the  ninth.  Germany  by  the  violation  of  the 
Belgian  Treaty  had  saved  him  from  humiliation.  A 
righteous  war  meant  no  qualms  of  conscience.  The 
protection  of  small  weak  countries  was  the  first  prin- 
ciple of  British  policy.  The  armed  peace  had  been 
broken  by  a  Power  which  had  been  arming  for  forty 
years.  After  Louvain,  Malines  and  Dinant,  the  wis- 
dom and  uprightness  of  Britain  going  to  war  were 
amply  confirmed.  Sir  Alfred  would  not  have  had  it 
otherwise.  Before  Mons  he  was  convinced  Germany 
had  made  her  warlike  preparations  solely  to  smash 
Christianity,  western  civilization,  and  the  British  Em- 
pire. Coal,  oil  and  shell  stocks  went  soaring  sky- 
high.  A  small  business  he  had  started  two  years 
earlier  which  dealt  in  pots  and  pans  could  not 
supply  the  demands  of  the  War  Office  half  fast 
enough.  So  that  the  army  should  not  run  short  he 
had  with  patriotic  foresight  bought  all  the  avail- 
able stocks  of  hardware  he  could  get  hold  of.  "Busi- 
ness as  usual"  was  the  cry,  and  many  of  those  en- 


86  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

gaged  m  selling  merchandise  to  the  army  did  "the 
usual"  war  business,  but  on  a  larger  scale.  An 
"armed  peace"  had  enriched  Sir  Alfred;  a  righteous 
war  gave  every  indication  of  showering  another 
fortune  upon  him.  His  name  figured  on  all  the 
charity  lists  for  large  sums.  He  was  energetic,  ubi- 
quitous and  indefatigable  in  industry,  generous  with 
his  money,  and  ready  with  his  oratory,  and  in  his 
determination  firm  to  save  Christian  Britain  from  a 
Godless  Prussia.  All  through  September  he  worked 
Incessantly.  He  visited  every  branch  of  his  works 
and  told  the  men  the  Christian  reason  why  they 
were  making  missiles.  The  destruction  of  Rheims 
Cathedral  made  him  burn  with  an  indignation  almost 
as  great  as  that  he  suffered  as  a  young  man  when 
he  was  ready  to  pull  any  such  edifice  down  to  the 
ground.  From  round  about  Crowington  he  had  got  to- 
gether a  score  of  young  men  to  enlist  for  service 
abroad,  much  to  the  annoyance  of  some  neighboring 
landlords  and  many  of  the  farmers.  He  even  tried  to 
persuade  Evelyn  to  let  two  grooms  go  from  the 
stables  at  Wilmslow,  but  she  flatly  refused  to  do 
any  such  thing,  and  told  him  to  be  off  and  not  bother 
her  again  until  the  war  was  over.  Poor  Sir  Alfred 
forgot  in  his  enthusiasm  that  Count  Herbert  was  a 
German. 

At  Horton  House  and  at  Crowington  Manor  sew- 
ing classes  were  established.  Bandages,  socks,  shirts, 
woolen  helmets,  belts,  etc.,  etc.,  were  made  in  hun- 
dreds. Lady  Horton-Birkett  presided  over  these  gath- 
erings, and  planned  the  work  from  week  to  week. 
Evelyn  and  Clarice,  with  the  servants,  plied  needle  and 
thread  as  busily  as  if  they  were  qualifying  for  jobs  in 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  87 

a  sweatshop.  They  gave  up  all  idea  of  shooting  and 
hunting  that  season,  and  only  to  keep  them  fit  did 
they  indulge  in  golf  twice  a  week.  Ed  had  written 
several  times  from  somewhere  in  France,  but  Eve- 
lyn had  received  no  word  from  Herbert  since  August 
fourth.  These  two  women  spent  most  of  their  days 
together.  Each  morning  after  a  glance  at  the  of- 
ficer's casualty  list  in  the  paper  they  tabooed  all 
reference  to  the  war. 

Robert  had  gone  to  the  front;  he  went  away  to- 
ward the  end  of  September.  The  war  pacified  Ire- 
land, for  the  time  being,  and  troops  of  a  Radical 
Government  were  spared  for  bloodshed  abroad. 
About  the  middle  of  October,  Fred  wrote  from  Ox- 
ford to  his  mother  telling  her  he  had  enlisted.  He 
was  in  the  ranks,  but  he  hoped  dad  would  use  his  in- 
fluence and  get  a  commission  for  him  as  soon  as 
possible. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IT  WOULD  be  hard  to  find  two  men  so  different 
as  Captain  E.  J.  Horton-Birkett  and  Colonel  Jaw- 
ton.  They  were  opposites.  It  was  a  pity  fate  threw 
them  together  in  the  same  regiment.  Jawton  was  an 
accomplished  soldier  of  what  was  called  "the  old 
school" — a  martinet.  The  men  loathed  him,  and  yet 
they  admired  his  courage  and  skill.  The  trouble  with 
Jawton  was  he  was  born  without  the  sense  of 
consideration  for  others.  He  was  a  slave-driver  who 
did  not  spare  himself.  At  mess  he  was  an  arrogant, 
intolerant  militarist,  ignorant  of  everything  that  made 
life  worth  living.  He  knew  soldiering — and  that  was 
about  all  he  knew.  Ed  and  the  colonel  from  the 
first  never  really  hit  it  off.  Somehow  Ed's  deliberate 
methods  got  on  the  colonel's  nerves.  He  would 
curse  in  his  throat  at  the  way  Ed  spoke,  at  the  way 
he  walked,  at  the  time  he  took  to  consider  a  question. 
In  conversation  at  mess,  Ed  would  pursue  a  subject 
doggedly,  turn  it  inside  and  out,  worry  it  until  it 
was  done  for.  This  habit  of  his  was  perhaps  the 
cause  of  much  of  Jawton's  umbrage.  Somehow  he 
got  a  notion  into  his  bullet-shaped  head  that  Edward 
took  a  particular  pleasure  in  showing  him  up — "set- 
ting him  right" — before  the  subalterns.  The  colonel 
was  a  bit  of  a  "spreader"  and  often  talked  at  random, 
and  many  of  his  statements  had  to  be  corrected. 

What   really   happened   between   Jawton   and   Ed 
after  their  regiment  was  cut  up  in  that  last  week  of 

88 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  89 

October  may  never  be  known.  Some  say  Jawton  for 
the  first  time  in  action  got  confused.  Certainly  the 
smoke,  the  dust,  the  blood  and  the  noise  were  enough 
to  shake  the  nerves  of  a  cast-iron  effigy.  Jawtortf 
swore  his  orders  were  quite  clear  and  that  they  were 
not  carried  out.  When  the  regiment  broke  it  was  in 
among  the  Germans  before  the  men  realized  it  was 
to  be  all  bayonet  work.  All  was  inextricably  con- 
fused, and  the  guns  of  the  British  artillery  were 
wiping  out  scores  of  Ed's  Tommies.  Where  the 
Germans  sprang  from  nobody  knew.  Sergeant- 
Major  Tudor  said  they  popped  up  "outer  'ell  an'  all 
under  our  bloody  eye-brow,"  and  all  he  saw  in  the 
melee  was  Captain  Horton-Birkett  rushing  forward 
to  the  place  where  Major  Pomeroy-Fanton  fell,  to 
pick  him  up.  Just  then  Tudor  was  bayoneted  in  the 
shoulder  and  shot  in  the  leg.  He  fainted.  Lieuten- 
ant Ercall  who  was  crawling  back,  his  foot  badly 
shattered,  saw  Ed  return  and  pick  up  Tudor.  Ercall 
noticed  Ed  fought  with  his  sword  in  his  left  hand. 
But  what  happened  between  Jawton  and  Ed  nobody 
knew.  Wild  rumors  flew  about  for  some  days,  and 
there  was  a  feeling  among  the  men  that  Captain 
Horton-Birkett  was  in  disgrace,  down  at  the  base. 
Then  some  one  came  up  the  line  and  said  Ed  was 
badly  wounded — his  right  hand  smashed  and  his  back 
and  thigh  pierced  with  bullets.  He  was  in  hospital. 
It  was  thought  he  would  lose  his  arm. 

"'E  went  abaht  it  as  if  'e  was  strolling  acrost 
'Ampstead  'Eath,  so  'e  did,"  Tudor  told  the  men  in 
the  hospital.  "First  the  major  'e  took — carried  'im 
— like  a  blessed  baby — back  a  good  bit.  Then  back 
'e  comes  after  me.  'E  was  done  up  proper,  but  I 


90  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

'tmg  on  to  'im  and  'opped  it  back.     'E's  a  bloody 
cucumber,  'e  is." 

When  Ed  was  well  enough  to  leave  the  base  hos- 
pital he  was  transferred  to  one  at  the  port.  He 
had  lost  the  thumb  and  first  finger  of  his  right 
hand,  and  some  bits  of  his  back  and  thigh.  But  he 
never  said  a  word  to  any  one  about  his  interview  with 
Jawton.  News,  however,  from  the  battle-field  travels 
faster  than  general's  despatches,  and  a  week  or  two 
after  "something  went  wrong"  with  Ed's  regiment, 
it  was  whispered  about  the  clubs  in  London  that 
Horton-Birkett  was  in  disgrace. 

Sir  Alfred  overheard  a  conversation  at  his  club 
and  learned  that  his  son  was  in  trouble.  What  he 
heard  made  him  feel  so  sick  he  had  to  leave  the, 
table  where  he  was  dining  and  get  out  into  the  air.( 
The  gossips  did  not  know  he  was  the  father  of  the 
man  whose  conduct  they  were  discussing.  He  wanted* 
to  know  more  about  it,  but  he  could  not  muster  suf- 
ficient courage  to  go  back  and  ask  the  men  who  sat  at 
the  next  table  for  the  whole  story.  He,  however, 
went  over  the  next  day  to  the  hospital  in  France. 
Ed  was  mending,  but  his  father  could  not  drag  a 
word  from  him  about  the  cause  of  his  disgrace.  All 
he  learned  from  Ed  was  that  in  the  melee  he  came 
face  to  face  with  Herbert. 

"Don't  ask  any  more,  please,  dad,"  he  said.  "The 
doctor  says  I'll  be  here  for  about  three  weeks.  Tell 
Clarice  not  to  worry  about  me.  I  shall  be  all  right 
soon." 

When  Sir  Alfred  got  back  to  London  he  found  his 
wife  had  received  a  letter  from  Fred  who  had  heard 
bad  news  of  Ed,  and  wanted  to  know  what  it  was 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  91 

all  about.  The  rumor  spread  quickly  and  soon 
found  its  way  down  to  Lady  Clungford.  She  kept 
it  away  from  Clarice  as  long  as  possible.  But  rumor 
like  water  will  find  a  hole  somewhere.  A  few  days 
later  she  and  her  mother  were  at  breakfast  when 
Clarice  dropped  a  letter  she  was  reading  and  burst 
into  tears.  The  letter  was  from  her  friend,  Lady 
Cottam,  in  London.  It  was  short : — 

"Belslow  Square. 

"Clarice,  my  love,  I  'don't  believe  a  word  of  it: 
Ed  is  not  the  man  to  funk  anything. 

"This  abominable  story  about  Jawton's  orders  being 
disobeyed  is  scouted  by  all  the  men  who  know  Ed. 
My  husband  says  it  is  absurd  on  the  face  of  it.  If 
Ed  was  told  to  advance  at  five  and  funked  it  why 
should  he  advance  at  five-thirty  when  there  was  livid 
hell  raging,  by  all  accounts?  Buck  up,  dearie,  and 
laugh  at  it.  "Your  old  pal, 

"Nance. 

"P.  S.  Hubby  says  Jawton  had  to  make  some 
excuse  for  the  smash-up  of  the  regiment.  It's  always 
the  way — the  sins  of  the  big  duffers,  etc." 

Clarice  was  all  for  starting  off,  there  and  then,  for 
France.  She  knew  he  was  wounded,  but  he  had  tele- 
graphed "nothing  serious,"  and  Sir  Alfred  had  writ- 
ten saying  Ed  would  be  home  in  a  week  or  two. 
Since  she  saw  his  name  in  a  casualty  list  she  could 
not  rest;  sewing,  reading,  writing  in  her  diary  were 
tried  furtively.  She  could  not  fix  her  mind  on  any 
occupation  for  long.  She  would  set  out  to  walk 
over  to  Wilmslow  and  turn  back  suddenly,  fearing 
a  telegram  might  come  in  her  absence.  Evelyn  went 
over  to  Clungford  every  day  to  see  her.  Lady  Hor- 
ton-Birkett  deserted  the  sewing  circle  in  London  and 


92  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

went  down  to  Crowington  to  be  near  Clarice.  The 
two  mothers,  Ed's  and  Clarice's,  schemed  and  planned 
how  they  should  keep  her  quiet  and  get  her  interested 
in  some  work,  but  without  avail.  It  was  hard  enough 
for  them  before  Clarice  heard  from  Lady  Cottam;  it 
was  a  sad  business  after  to  see  her  wandering  about 
the  grounds,  keeping  out  of  their  way,  dreading  to 
speak  to  any  one.  Even  Evelyn  failed  to  comfort  her. 

"I  do  wish  Ed  were  here,"  Lady  Gungford  sighed. 
"She  will  be  down  with  a  serious  illness  if  this  goes 
on  much  longer." 

"If  we  only  knew  why  Ed  is  in  disgrace,"  Evelyn 
gasped.  "It  is  these  horrible  rumors  which  are  so 
hard  to  bear.  Everybody  seems  to  hear  them,  no- 
body seems  to  believe  them,  and  there's  no  getting 
to  the  bottom  of  them.  Dad  says  Ed  is  as  silent  as 
a  sphinx  about  it.  You  may  be  sure  he  won't  say 
much — it's  Ed's  dogged  way.  If  there  was  only 
some  one  with  grit  enough  to  squeeze  the  truth  out  of 
Jawton's  throat  I'd  be  happy,  but  there's  no  one. 
Superior  officer,  for  the  army's  sake,  discipline,  you 
know — and  all  that — is  dead  against  us." 

"Ed's  a  scapegoat,"  Lady  Clungford  said.  "That's 
my  opinion,  Cricket." 

"But  surely  they  will  give  him  a  chance  to  clear 
himself,"  his  mother  put  in  anxiously. 

"They  won't,"  Lady  Clungford  snapped.  "Don't 
you  believe  it,  Evie.  When  you  know  as  much  about 
the  army  as  I  do,  you'll  know  the  little  'uns  must 
bear  the  sins  of  the  big  'uns.  Did  they  give  Tommy 
Biggs  a  chance  to  clear  himself?  Suppose  you  kick 
up  a  row  about  it  as  his  people  did?  What's  the 
good?  Where's  Tommy  now?  Eating  his  heart  out 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  93 

in  the  West  Indies.   Justice  must  not  clash  with  dis- 
cipline." 

Day  after  day  these  women  met  and  discussed  the 
matter  without  making  headway.  The  rumor  was 
like  an  epidemic,  it  persisted  in  appearing  in  the  most 
unexpected  quarters,  without  revealing  how  conta- 
gion was  carried  from  place  to  place.  The  more 
these  women  discussed  it,  the  worse  it  grew,  the 
more  indignant  they  became,  and  the  greater  their 
impotence  to  probe  the  matter.  They  were  like 
sleepers  struggling  to  escape  out  of  a  terrible  night- 
mare. 

It  was  late  in  November  when  Ed  reached  Crow- 
ington.  His  train  arrived  at  Minsterley  too  late  for 
the  last  connection  up  the  branch  line.  Sir  Alfred 
had  telegraphed  to  his  wife  to  motor  in  and  fetch 
him  home.  She  and  Clarice  went  to  meet  him.  It 
was  raining ;  a  chilly  dreary  night. 

The  train  moved  slowly  along  the  platform:  the 
women  looked  eagerly  into  the  first-class  carriages 
for  a  glimpse  of  the  wounded  man.  The  station, 
always  badly  lighted,  was  heavy  with  damp  murk 
and  clouds  of  smoke  and  steam.  A  Tommy,  with 
his  head  bandaged,  carrying  his  sack,  stepped  down 
to  the  platform  and  fell  into  the  arms  of  an  old 
woman. 

"Eh,  lad,  tha's  'ome,  thank  God,"  she  cried  over 
him.  "Albert  'Enry!  Albert  'Enry!  God's  mercy!" 

"Get  'old  o'  this,  mother,  an'  'ush  th'  whimperin', " 
he  said,  giving  her  the  sack.  "Captain's  on  th'  train. 
I  must  give  a  'and." 

He  opened  the  door  of  a  first-class  carriage  and 


94  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

sprang  into  the  compartment.  The  lamp  was  shaded 
and  the  blinds  were  drawn.  He  called  a  porter. 

"Give  us  a  'and  matey,  in  'ere." 

Clarice  and  Lady  Horton-Birkett  had  passed  down 
the  platform,  their  anxiety  increasing  with  every  step 
they  took,  until  they  reached  the  engine.  With  hasty 
steps  they  returned  and  came  to  the  compartment 
into  which  the  porter  had  jumped  at  the  request  of 
the  wounded  Tommy.  The  women  stood  holding 
each  other's  hands,  mute;  dread  rooted  them  to  the 
spot.  Their  eyes  fastened  on  the  open  door  saw  only 
the  backs  of  the  porter  and  the  Tommy  bending 
over  the  seat  inside. 

"  'E's  orl  right  when  'e's  on  'is  pins.  Gently,"  they 
heard  the  Tommy  say. 

Slowly  Ed  rose,  supported  by  the  men,  and  stood 
up  under  the  lamp.  They  helped  him  down  to  the 
platform.  His  mother  and  Clarice  went  to  him. 

"Mater!  Clarice,  old  girl,"  he  said,  holding  them 
off  with  his  left  hand.  "Wait  a  bit.  Keep  off  my 
shoulder  and  thighs."  He  turned  to  the  Tommy. 
"How  about  getting  down  to  the  street?" 

"Take  yer  down  in  the  luggage  lift,  sir,"  the  porter 
said. 

"Good.    Look  after  my  bags." 

The  Tommy  went  to  the  guard's  van  and  got  Ed's 
luggage  together.  His  mother  and  Clarice  went  with 
him  to  the  dirty,  greasy,  smelly  lift,  and  descended 
slowly  to  the  street  level.  It  was  no  simple  task 
getting  him  into  the  motor. 

"Tell  Barnes  to  drive  quietly,"  he  said,  when  he 
was  laid  out  on  the  back  seat.  "I'm  better  standing. 
Can't  sit  or  bend  very  well — bandages,  you  know." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  95 

"Ed,  dear,  ought  you  to  have  taken  such  a  jour- 
ney so  soon?"  his  mother  asked. 

"Anything's  better  than  that  hospital.  Besides,  I 
wanted  to  get  back — anywhere  away  from  London. 
I'll  be  all  right  in  a  week  or  two.  Qarice,  old  girl, 
I'm  a  bit  of  a  crock." 

She  sat  on  a  front  seat  with  her  knees  pressed 
into  the  edge  of  the  cushion  on  which  he  reclined. 
His  left  side  and  arm  rested  in  her  lap,  and  she 
clasped  his  free  hand.  She  could  not  speak.  Once 
or  twice  on  the  platform  she  said,  "Ed,  old — ," 
but  she  nearly  choked.  She  gulped  down  every 
rising  sob,  and  whenever  he  raised  his  eyes  to 
hers  she  pressed  his  hand  against  her  breasts.  His 
mother  sat  quite  still,  and  in  the  darkness  let  the 
tears  she  had  stifled  flow  in  silence.  She  wondered 
what  was  the  name  of  the  wounded  Tommy,  where 
he  lived;  the  poor,  white,  thin  lad  who  was  so  gentle 
with  Ed  and  who  stood,  as  the  motor  moved  away, 
erect  as  on  parade  and  saluted.  She  would  find  out. 
What  a  way  to  come  home!  She  thought  of  thou- 
sands— the  millions  of  mothers  of  men  who  came 
back  battered,  bruised  and  broken.  And  those  whose 
boys  never  came  back.  She  thought  of  all  the  aching 
hearts,  of  all  the  tears.  Into  the  panorama  passing 
through  her  mind  came  the  scene  at  the  Coronation 
review  when  she  saw  Ed  for  the  first  time  in  a 
captain's  uniform.  She  remembered  her  thoughts 
and  her  gladness  at  seeing  a  clean-limbed  handsome 
man,  full  of  health  and  vigor.  How  proud  she 
was  to  be  the  mother  of  fine  bred  men.  And  now, 
that  sprawling,  wounded  fellow,  helped  by  a  porter 


96  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

and  a  wounded  Tommy,  was  what  the  army  gave 
her  back  in  return  for  her  labor  and  care. 

As  the  car  went  slowly  through  the  little  town  of 
Benningdale  the  few  oil  lamps  in  the  streets  threw 
dim  shafts  of  light  across  his  face,  and  she  won- 
dered at  the  strange  look  in  his  eyes.  She  could  not 
think  of  anything  else  like  it  but  the  old  cunning 
look  she  once  saw  in  a  wrinkled  senile  child.  It 
haunted  her,  and  she  was  glad  when  the  car  turned 
/'out  of  the  village  into  the  darkness  of  the  country 
road.  Had  they  tortured  his  soul?  That  was  a  look 
which  expressed  a  terrible  loathing,  she  was  sure. 
Such  a  look  as  a  tortured  creature  might  wear  be- 
tween visits  to  the  rack.  Was  that  the  look  left  by 
modern  war  on  sensitive  souls?  She  was  sure  only 
a  brutal  injury  to  the  soul  could  account  for  such  a 
light  in  his  eyes. 

When  they  had  got  him  into  the  house,  and  she 
had  given  orders  for  her  sitting-room  on  the  ground 
floor  to  be  made  into  a  bedroom  for  him,  she  and 
Clarice  were  relieved  for  they  could  set  to  work  in 
earnest  to  minister  to  his  wants. 

"What'll  you  do,  mater?  Sure  it  won't  be  depriv- 
ing you?"  he  asked,  as  he  lay  on  her  great  couch. 

"It  will  be  your  room,"  she  said.  "Now  I'll  run 
off  and  see  to  some  food." 

Clarice  took  his  boots  off  and  found  his  slippers. 
They  were  alone. 

"Rotten  nuisance,  old  girl,  isn't  it?" 

"Rather.    We'll  soon  have  you  fit,  though." 

"There's  nothing  much  wrong,  you  know.  Nothing 
very  serious,  I  mean.  .Right  shoulder,  this  hand  and 
my  thigh.  All  pretty  clean  wounds.  Lost  half  my  v 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  97 

hand,  but  I  can  wear  a  glove  and  keep  the  thing  out 
of  sight.  Rotten  luck  that." 

"Why  didn't  some  one  come  down  with  you,  Ed?" 

"Didn't  want  any  one.  Dad  wished  to  come,  but  I 
wouldn't  let  him." 

Something  like  a  sneer  flickered  about  his  lips,  and 
his  brows  contracted,  the  muscles  twitching  tremu- 
lously. 

"I  haven't  been  able  to  talk  to  any  one,  old  girl," 
he  muttered.  "Only  with  the  nurse.  She  was  a 
wonder.  Set  me  thinking  above  a  bit.  You  know 
I'm  not  much  at  deep  stuff.  But  she  told  me  things 
that  made  me  feel  I  ought  to  shut  up  for  years — not 
speak  at  all — only  think,  just  think." 

She  looked  in  astonishment  at  him.  It  was  not 
like  Ed  to  talk  in  that  strain.  She  changed  the 
subject,  it  made  her  feel  uncomfortable. 

"Who  was  the  jolly  little  Tommy?"  she  asked. 

"Lives  in  Minsterley.  Looked  after  me  all  the 
way  down.  Knows  me.  Nephew  of  Tonks  down  in 
the  village.  Lost  two  brothers.  Good  little  chap." 

She  unbuttoned  his  tunic  and  fixed  his  pillows. 
Suddenly  she  shook  from  head  to  foot  and  her  knees 
gave  way.  Before  he  realized  what  had  happened 
her  head  was  on  his  breast  and  her  body  throbbing 
in  a  paroxysm  of  grief.  Her  tears  ran  in  streams 
down  his  breast.  He  felt  them  trickling  under  his 
arms  and  down  his  side.  He  soothed  her — soothed 
her,  in  his  big  kindly  way.  Told  her  to  buck  up, 
and  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip.  He  was  all  right,  and 
she  need  not  be  ashamed  of  him.  Everything  would 
come  all  right,  and  he  would  hole  out  on  the  eigh- 
teenth green  and  put  in  his  card.  Clarice  soon  had 


98  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

herself  in  hand  again,  and  when  his  mother  returned 
to  tell  him  the  bed  would  soon  be  ready,  she  and  Ed 
were  chatting  about  Cricket  and  Wilmslow. 

Doctor  Raymond  came  out  each  day  from  Minster- 
ley;  he  installed  Lady  Horton-Birkett  and  Clarice 
nurses  to  tend  and  dress  Ed's  wounds.  Christmas 
came  and  passed,  and  Harold  often  came  in  to  have 
a  pipe  with  the  patient  who  was  up  and  about  long 
before  his  hand  healed.  Evelyn  sat  and  read  to  him 
by  the  hour,  though  Ed  seldom  heard  all  she  said. 
Before  he  left  his  bed  he  would  lie  and  look  at  her 
with  curious  eyes  full  of  affection.  They  had  not 
told  him,  and  he  wondered  should  he  tell  her  of  that 
frightful  moment  when  Herbert  looked  into  his  face 
and  cried  out,  "Cricket,  for  God's  sake,  Ed."  He 
dared  not  let  it  dwell  in  his  thoughts,  it  was  too 
terrible,  too  horrible,  for  consideration.  The  memory 
of  it  came  to  him  like  a  flash,  and  swiftly  he  had  to 
exercise  a  great  mental  convulsion  to  shut  it  off,  like 
dropping  a  shutter  over  a  light.  Some  day  he  would 
tell  her — tell  her  of  the  anguish,  the  wild  love,  the 
beseeching  cry  that  was  wrung  from  Herbert  in  that 
crashing  moment  when  Ed's  sword  went  through  a 
German  who  fell  at  the  feet  of  his  old  friend. 

The  day  they  read  of  the  honor  which  came  to 
Ed  was  one  of  torture  to  him.  Half  a  column  in 
the  paper  described  how  Ed  went  forward  to  Major 
Pomeroy-Fanton  and  carried  him  out  of  danger, 
and  how  Ed  went  back  for  Sergeant-Major  Tudor 
and  helped  him  to  a  place  of  safety.  Harold  ran 
up  the  Union  Jack  on  the  tower  of  the  church.  The 
school  had  a  holiday  that  afternoon.  The  villagers 
came  down  at  night  with  lanterns  and  cheered  the 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  99 

hero.  Clarice  drove  her  mother  over  to  Crowington 
to  kiss  the  Victoria  Cross  man.  Evelyn  stayed  to 
dinner.  More  of  the  family  gathered  at  the  table 
than  had  been  there  for  a  long  time.  Sir  Alfred 
rushed  up  from  town  and  found  dozens  of  telegrams 
of  congratulation  from  all  parts  of  the  country. 
Why  had  Ed  not  told  them?  How  like  him  to  say 
nothing.  It  was  a  triumph.  What  about  the  lying 
rumors  of  his  being  in  disgrace  now?  It  was  a 
glorious  vindication. 

Everybody  seemed  to  appreciate  the  honor  but 
Xhe  hero.  He  didn't  want  to  talk  about  the  affair. 
At  lunch  he  was  plied  with  questions,  then  in  about 
one  hundred  words  he  told  them  all  he  remembered 
of  the  fight.  "Only  fellows  who  write  about  it 
and  haven't  been  in  it  can  go  into  details,"  he  said. 
What  concerned  Ed  chiefly  was  how  the  thing  had 
been  done.  The  Victoria  Cross!  Fanton  and  Tudor 
would  be  grateful  and  talk  a  lot  about  it.  But  Jaw- 
ton!  What  had  happened  to  make  Jawton  a  party 
to  the  business?  The  more  Ed  thought  of  it,  the 
deeper  his  perplexity.  He  had  seen  Fanton  and 
Tudor  just  before  he  left  France.  The  major  was 
very  bad — a  horrible  wound  in  the  stomach.  Tudor 
was  lame,  but  otherwise  progressing  well.  Neither 
said  anything  to  Ed  about  Jawton.  It  was  a  mystery. 

In  some  strange  way  the  Victoria  Cross  brought  to 
the  Crowington  family  some  relief  from  the  gloom 
which  had  settled  on  the  house  since  Ed  was 
wounded.  The  little  ornament  had  not  been  formally 
presented  to  him;  the  coveted  bit  of  metal  had  not 
yet  been  struck.  But  the  news  that  he  was  to  receive 
it  dispelled  the  feeling  of  horror  which  had  afflicted 


100  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

them,  and  thoughts  of  the  woe  of  war  seemed  to 
give  place  to  those  of  the  glory  of  battle.  This  extra- 
ordinary change  was  perhaps  attributable  as  much 
to  the  large  way  in  which  Sir  Alfred  spoke  at  dinner 
of  the  mission  of  the  Allies  as  to  the  decoration  Ed 
was  to  receive.  Evelyn,  however,  did  not  rejoice. 
Of  course,  it  would  not  be  natural  in  her  case,  Sir 
Alfred  thought,  though  it  might  be  national.  Clarice 
and  her  mother  remembered  they  were  daughter 
and  widow  of  a  soldier,  and  Lady  Horton-Birkett 
knew  she  was  mother  of  three.  Evelyn  left  them 
early,  glad  to  get  out  of  earshot  of  her  father's  tags 
and  perorations. 

When  the  ladies  retired  for  the  night,  Sir  Alfred 
and  Ed  s"at  up  for  a  while  over  another  whisky  and 
a  pipe.  Voluble  father  and  reticent  son  sat  buried  in 
large  chairs  staring  at  the  fizzing,  squealing  logs. 
They  smoked  in  silence  for  some  time. 

"I  wish  you  would  come  up  to  town  for  a  night, 
Ed,"  Sir  Alfred  said.  "I  should  like  to  give  a  quiet 
dinner — " 

Ed  cut  him  off:    "No— not  likely." 

Sir  Alfred  was  half  prepared  for  the  answer. 

"Well,  will  you  let  my  Humberton  people  have  a 
look  at  you?" 

"No,  indeed.  You'll  not  drag  me  through  the 
streets  of  your  constituency.  I  hate  that  kind  of 
thing." 

His  father  winced.    He  had  made  a  mistake. 

"You're  safe  enough  there,  aren't  you,  without 
doing  that  kind  of  thing?"  Ed  said  moodily. 

It  was  said  in  just  the  way  that  Jawton  disliked. 
Ed  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind,  indeed  he  was  not 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  UOUSE  101 

conscious  of  saying  anything  cutting.  It  was  just 
his  way  of  saying  simply,  bluntly,  what  came  to  his 
mind.  His  father  looked  hurt.  Ed,  however,  did 
not  turn  his  eyes  that  way.  He  sat  and  watched  the 
logs  twisting,  rising  and  falling,  in  the  blazing  grate. 

"Anyway,  I'm  not  going  to  take  it,"  he  said,  after 
a  long  pause. 

"Eh?     Take  what?"  yawned  his  father. 

"The  cross." 

Sir  Alfred  sat  up  and  swung  round  quickly. 

"You're  not  going  to  take  the  cross  ?" 

"No." 

His  father  gasped  and  struggled  to  speak.  The 
logs  tumbled  down  to  the  hearth,  and  save  for  a 
flickering  end  or  two  of  wood,  only  a  charred,  white, 
trellised  marked  heap  of  shanks,  remained  of  the 
tough  timbers. 

"It's  a  left-handed  apology,"  Ed  said,   "and  I'm 
not  going  to  take  it." 
'  "What  d'you  say?" 

"It's  not  what  I  want." 

"What  do  you  want,  then?" 

"Jawton  to  set  me  right.  That's  all,  dad." 

"But  doesn't  the  Victoria  Cross  do  that?" 

"No,  it  doesn't." 

"Then  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  tell  me  what 
is  the  trouble  between  you  and  Colonel  Jawton?  I 
might  as  well  tell  you  that  I  wrote  to  him — 

"Wrote  to  him !  I  wish  you'd  mind  your  own  busi- 
ness." 

"I  couldn't  stand  it.  All  those  rumors  about  your 
funking  it.  They  nearly  drove  me  mad." 

"Did  Jawton  reply?" 


102  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"No,  he  didn't.  An  unmannerly  man,  I  should 
say." 

Ed  smiled  and  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe. 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  happened." 

Ed  rose  and  strode  up  and  down  the  room  several 
times.  He  stopped  at  the  back  of  his  father's  chair 
and  laid  his  left  hand  on  his  father's  head.  The 
action  startled  Sir  Alfred.  It  was  the  first  expres- 
sion of  an  affectionate  touch  he  had  received  from 
Ed  for  a  good  many  years. 

"Will  you  keep  quiet?    Not  tell  a  soul?" 

"Ed—" 

"Will  you?" 

"On  my  honor." 

Ed  threw  a  couple  of  logs  on  the  embers  and  re- 
charged his  pipe. 

"It  isn't  much  to  talk  about,  but  it  finished  me. 
Orders  came  down  early  one  morning  there  was 
going  to  be  a  row,  and  that  our  lot  should  get  ready 
to  go  forward.  Then  the  order  was  countermanded 
because  mist  gathered  heavily.  Things  got  so  hot 
as  the  afternoon  wore  on  that  we  all  looked  for  a 
new  order  to  move.  No  order  came.  Nothing.  At 
five  our  shells  were  spilling  in  among  us,  and  German 
machine-guns  were  spitting  death  in  showers.  But 
no  order.  Then  our  wings  started,  and  our  men 
broke  hell  for  leather.  Before  we  got  on — fifty  or 
sixty  yards,  I  should  think — the  Germans  came  up 
right  under  us.  It  was  thick — horrible.  Dust,  blood, 
smoke,  yells  and  the  roar  and  splutter  of  the  guns. 
It  was  a  mix-up — a  shocking  melee.  Well,  when  it 
was  over,  and  we  got  back,  out  of  a  thousand  we  had 
two  hundred  and  nine.  Seventy-five  per  cent,  of  the 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  103 

officers  killed  and  wounded.  Jawton,  without  a 
scratch,  went  for  those  of  us  who  could  stand  up,  but 
all  his  fury  broke  on  me.  Every  officer  agreed  no 
order  came  down.  Jawton  swore  he  sent  it.  He 
didn't,  and  he  knew  he  didn't.  Hence  his  rage." 

Sir  Alfred  sat  and  wiped  the  beads  of  sweat  from 
his  head  and  neck. 

"But  why  were  you  the  only  one  to — "  he  gasped. 

"Jawton  called  me  aside  and  said,  'It's  you,  you 
white-livered  cur,  that's  at  the  bottom  of  this.  You 
bloody  well  funked  it.' " 

"Good  gracious !  Did  he  know  you  were  wounded  ?" 

"What  if  he  did?    That  had  nothing  to  do  with  it" 

"I'll  have  that  fellow  cashiered—" 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"But,  Ed— " 

"Remember !  Not  a  word  to  any  one." 

"Did  he  know  you  had  carried  Major  Fanton  and 
Sergeant-Major —  ?" 

"No.  And  that  didn't  matter,  dad.  Well,  now. 
you  know  the  kind  of  thing  many  of  us  have  to  take. 
But  I'll  take  no  more.  I'm  done." 

Ed  sat  down  and  pulled  quietly  at  his  pipe.  The 
fresh  logs  sparkled  with  flames  which  sent  flickering 
shadows  across  the  ceiling  and  about  the  walls. 
There  they  sat  in  silence  for  many  minutes.  Sir 
Alfred  was  wide  awake  and  busy  with  a  thousand 
thoughts.  Some  of  them  hurt  badly.  Robert  was 
out  there  "somewhere  in  France,"  and  Fred  was 
eager  to  go.  The  shell  and  bullet  business  was  never 
so  good.  The  dividend  for  the  past  year  had  risen 
to  twenty-eight  per  cent. 

"Look  here,  dad.    Just  see  some  one  up  in  town 


104  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

and  let  it  be  known  that  the  cross  affair  should  be 
quietly  dropped — 

"But,  Ed— that  is—" 

"Never  mind.  You  do  it.  I  shan't  take  it.  I 
don't  want  it.  Say  anything  you  like.  You  know 
the  man  to  go  to  about  it.  Will  you,  now?" 

"Certainly — if  you've  made  up  your  mind." 

"I  have." 

"It's  a  great  pity." 

"I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  you." 

Sir  Alfred  knew  it  was  no  use  arguing  the  matter 
with  Ed.  He  could  see  he  meant  it. 

"I'll  take  my  medicine,  but  I'll  be  no  party  to  the 
kind  of  crass  stupidity — incompetency — which  sends 
thousands  to  their  death  without  a  chance.  War  is 
war,  I  know.  But  there's  been  far  too  much  blun- 
dering so  far  to  go  without  protest" 

"Blundering,  Ed?" 

"Yes." 

"I've  heard  the  most  extraordinary  rumors  in  the 
clubs,  but  I  couldn't  believe  them." 

"The  rumors  may  be  false,  but  the  blundering  I 
refer  to  will,  if  things  are  not  soon  changed,  lead  us 
to  disaster.  Besides — it's  all  very  well  in  its  way  to 
protect  the  reputations  of  the  men  at  the  top,  but 
more  important  still  is  the  question  of  sparing  the 
lives  of  the  men  who  have  to  do  the  biggest  part  of 
the  fighting.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  unnecessary 
slaughter  taking  place  once  too  often." 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  they  rose  to  go  to  bed. 
When  they  reached  the  hall  they  saw  Lady  Horton- 
Blrkett  coming  down  the  stairs.  She  stopped  on 
seeing  them. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  105 

"How  you  frightened  me,"  she  exclaimed.  "I  went 
to  your  rooms  twice.  Do  come,  Alfred.  You  ought 
not  to  keep  Ed  up  so  late.  I've  had  a  horrible 
dream." 

"All  right,  mater,  it's  my  fault.  Good  night,  dad," 
he  said. 

He  put  his  left  arm  round  his  mother  and  took  her 
to  her  bedroom. 


CHAPTER  X 

4t 

WHEN  Ellen's  telegram  reached  Ben  he  saw 
that  it  must  have  been  delivered  at  his  lodg- 
ings early  in  the  afternoon.  He  had  been  away  to 
report  a  meeting.  What  should  he  do?  It  was  after 
six,  and  her  train  was  due  in  London  about  five.  The 
maid  at  his  lodgings  said  no  lady  had  called  for  him. 
When  he  reached  the  station  Ellen  was  sitting  near 
the  bookstall  reading  a  copy  of  Shaw's  Common 
Sense  About  the  War. 

"I  thought  it  better  to  wait,"  she  said.  "We  might 
have  crossed.  Well,  here  I  am.  What  are  you  going 
to  do  with  me?" 

They  went  to  Gatti's  for  dinner. 

"Where  are  you  going? — I  mean,  do  you  go  to 
Horton  House  or  Crowington?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know,  I'll  see.  There's  no  hurry  for  a  day 
or  two." 

She  was  satisfied  with  him.  How  well  he  looked. 
So  refined  and  sure  of  himself.  His  ease  and  glad- 
ness sent  a  warm  glow  coursing  through  her  breast. 

"If  I  go  to  Crowington,  will  you  get  away  for  a 
few  days  and  come  down  ?" 

"Yes,  I've  had  no  holiday  for  over  a  year.  I 
could  stay  with  my  people  or  get  a  room  some- 
where." 

His  eyes  danced  with  pleasure. 

"How  did  you  get  away  from  Dresden?"  he  asked. 

106 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  107 

"I  didn't  want  to  get  away.  There  was  no  diffi- 
culty. Have  you  heard  of  the  Von  Hoists?" 

"The  German  count  who  took  Wilmslow?" 

"Yes.  He  and  Evelyn  were  engaged.  I've  been 
staying  most  of  the  time  with  his  mother — an  English 
woman,  a  Martindale.  She  wanted  to  know  about 
Evelyn.  Every  letter  she  receives  from  her  son  is 
full  of  Cricket — Cricket — Cricket, — my  sister's  pet 
name.  He's  fighting — been  wounded  twice.  I  saw 
him  the  last  time  he  was  convalescing  at  his  mother's 
house.  About  a  fortnight  ago.  He  saw  Ed  in  a 
battle  about  the  end  of  October." 

"Saw  your  brother— in  battle?" 

"Face  to  face.  That  is  the  second  time  I've  heard 
of  friends  meeting.  The  other  is  quite  interesting. 
The  son  of  Parvenstadt,  the  Dresden  doctor,  went  in 
June  to  Chateau  d'Oex  with  his  aunt's  family — Bel- 
gians. Antwerp  people.  At  Chateau  d'Oex  they 
met  a  party  of  Americans.  Well,  young  Parven- 
stadt, Ulric,  and  his  cousin,  Ernest,  from  Antwerp, 
fell  in  love  with  the  same  girl — one  of  the  Ameri- 
cans. They  played  tennis,  they  danced,  they  climbed 
together.  One  night  in  July  these  two  young  men 
suddenly  disappeared,  leaving  their-  parents  to  make 
apologies  to  their  friends.  After  war  broke  out  their 
families  got  home  as  best  they  could,  and  the  Ameri- 
cans went  into  Italy.  In  one  of  the  battles  before 
Antwerp,  Ulric  and  Ernest  met,  both  severely 
wounded.  They  were  shipped  off  to  Cologne.  Ernest 
was  a  prisoner,  and  after  a  while  he  died.  Ulric 
went  home  when  he  was  well  enough,  and  one  day 
in  Dresden  met  the  father  of  the  American  girl  he 
fell  in  love  with  at  Chateau  d'Oex.  Romantic,  eh?" 


108  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Terrible.    And  all  to  happen  in  a  few  months." 

When  they  had  finished  dinner  she  asked  him  to 
take  her  to  his  rooms  and  see  if  she  could  get  lodg- 
ings in  the  house.  There  were  rooms  to  be  had  on 
the  floor  below.  A  small  bedroom  and  a  good-sized 
sitting-room  at  the  back.  She  sent  to  the  station 
for  her  box  and  bags. 

"Do  they  know  you  are  here  ?"  he  asked. 

"I'll  write  to-night." 

Without  her  hat  and  coat,  at  ease  on  a  sofa,  before 
the  fire,  what  a  wisp  of  a  creature  she  looked ;  with  her 
little  hands,  so  plump,  and  her  dainty  feet,  which 
seemed  small  for  her  short  delicate  body.  She  looked 
at  him  with  eyes  full  of  amusement,  full  of  a  kindly 
satire.  She  knew  few  women  had  ever  been  so 
near  and  free  with  him.  She  knew  he  was  per- 
plexed— rather  uneasy — but  as  loyal,  as  firm  as  ever. 

"You're  still  a  worker,  eh,  Ben?"  she  inquired. 

He  started  and  glanced  quickly  at  her:  "Yes." 

"Still  in  love  with  your  work?"  she  asked. 

"More  than  ever "  he  muttered. 

She  hoped  he  would  say  Ellen.  He  was  always 
so  deferential.  In  his  letters  it  was  "my  good 
friend." 

"You  make  a  decent  living?" 

"Oh,  yes — quite — always  enough.  You  see  I  have 
no  ties.  My  father  and  sisters  do  very  well,  you 
know." 

"Have  you  many  friends?" 

"Numbers — all  over  the  country.     I  speak  a  lot." 

"I  must  hear  you  speak,"  she  said,  shaking  up  a 
pillow  and  fixing  her  head  on  it.  "I  want  to  see  you 
on  the  platform.  Women  must  admire  you,  Ben." 


• 

A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  109 

"Women?"  He  had  not  thought  of  them.  He 
laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"Come  and  sit  here  and  tell  your  old,  old  friend 
all  about  it." 

She  made  room  on  the  sofa  for  him,  a  niche  near 
her  waist. 

"Come." 

She  extended  her  hand,  and  her  soul  thrilled  at 
his  physical  shyness  and  spirited  ecstasy.  He  rose 
timidly,  his  face  full  of  wonderment.  Happiness 
shown  in  his  eyes.  Her  little  hand,  so  firm  and  warm, 
lay  in  his.  He  sat  down  as  if  he  were  afraid  his  great 
form  would  crush  her. 

"That's  right.  Don't  be  afraid,  you'll  not  crush 
me.  I'm  not  brittle,  Ben." 

He  dare  not  look  at  her  eyes.  He  fixed  his  on 
her  supple  fingers,  and  played  tenderly  with  them. 

"Are  you  really  glad  to  see  me  ?" 

"I  never  thought  of  such  gladness "  he  turned 

his  head  and  met  her  eyes  full  upon  him.  And  over 
her  he  bowed  low,  drawn  down  by  the  appealing  light 
on  her  face.  She  raised  her  arm  and  gently  drew 
him  to  her  for  the  kiss  she  had  hungered  for  so  long. 

"I've  waited  so  patiently,"  she  whispered.  "Do 
you  understand?  I  couldn't  let  another  day  pass. 
I  have  been  ready  for  you  any  time  since  I  went 
away.  And  you  were  ready  for  me.  But  you 
would  not  speak.  I  know.  I've  known  all  along, 
Ben." 

No,  she  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  banns  and 
church  ceremony.  A  license  would  satisfy  her — if 
he  desired  that  much.  But  the  old  leaven  was  in 
him.  She  must  be  really  legally  his  wife. 


110  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

He  arranged  for  a  week's  leave  to  begin  the  day 
of  his  marriage.  While  he  finished  some  literary 
work  and  cleaned  up  arrears  at  the  office,  Ellen 
went  down  to  Crowington  to  see  her  people. 

Ed  went  to  the  station  to  meet  her.  His  hand 
was  not  well  enough  for  driving  though  he  knew  the 
chestnut  would  have  taken  him  with  one  hand.  Eve- 
lyn and  Clarice  had  gone  into  Minsterley  to  do  some 
shopping,  and  Ellen's  wire  reached  Crowington  after 
they  left.  As  the  motor  turned  up  the  village  street 
Ben's  father  came  out  of  his  house.  He  tipped  his 
hat,  and  Ellen  stopped  the  car. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Tonks?"  she  cried,  and  shot 
her  hand  out  of  the  window. 

Tonks  took  it,  rather  abashed  at  Ellen's  familiarity, 
and  mumbled:  "Nicely,  thanks,  miss." 

"Good  sort,  Tonks,"  Ed  said,  as  they  resumed 
their  journey. 

"Yes,  very.  I'm  going  to  marry  his  son  on  Tues- 
day," she  murmured. 

"The  deuce  you  are." 

"Fact."     She  gave  an  emphatic  nod  and  smiled. 

"What  next,  I  wonder.    Bit  of  a  hurry,  isn't  it?" 

"We've  been  in  love  for  years  and  years — ever 
since  he  played  my  accom " 

"That  night?  You  don't  say.  And  all  the  time 
you've  been  in  Germany?" 

"All.    But— no  love-letters,  Ed— not  one." 

"He's  devilish  clever,  isn't  he?  Writer,  too,  they 
say.  Awful  Socialist — or  something,  eh?" 

"Mild — not  nearly  enough  to  please  me." 

"What?    Get  on." 

"I'm  a  thoroughgoing  philosophical  anarchist." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  111 

"Lord,  what's  that,  Ellen?" 

"Something  awful — down  with  church  and  state 
and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

Ed  loved  the  merry  elfish  look  in  her  eyes.  They 
were  going  to  be  great  pals. 

"The  mater!"  He  laughed  heartily  for  the  first 
time  since  July.  "She'll  curl  up  proper  when  she 
hears." 

"Dad's  away,  isn't  he?  I  went  to  Horton  House 
and  to  the  Commons." 

"Up  north  somewhere — opening  a  new  plant,  I 
think."  Ed  frowned. 

"Coining  money,  eh?" 

"Don't  Ellen.    It's  too  awful— shocking." 

"How's  dad's  God  getting  on?" 

"He's  taken  him  into  partnership.  But  let's  drop 
that,  little  'un.  It  isn't  nice  a  bit." 

She  was  glad  to  find  out  what  her  brother  thought 
about  it  all. 

"I  wish  I  could  earn  my  own  living  like  you, 
Ellen.  But  that's  not  possible  now.  Here  we  are." 

The  car  passed  up  the  drive.  Lady  Horton-Birkett 
was  waiting  on  the  steps.  After  the  usual  saluta- 
tions Ed  drew  Ellen  away  to  the  drawing-room 
piano. 

"Come,  little  'un,  and  play." 

They  gathered  near  the  instrument  and  watched 
her  attack  the  keyboard.  The  years  in  Dresden  had 
made  a  musician  of  Ellen.  She  was  the  only  mem- 
ber of  her  family  who  had  talent.  Mother  and  son 
sat  in  amazement  while  Ellen  played  a  Schubert  im- 
promptu. Then  she  passed  to  the  Chopin  Fantasia 
and  some  short  pieces  of  Brahms. 


112  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Did  you  compose  all  these  pieces?"  her  mother 
asked. 

"No,  mater — Brahms,  Chopin  and  Schubert.  But 
I'll  play  some  of  mine.  This  is  called  Clouds." 

It  was  the  piece  she  wrote  for  Heinrich  Ulm.  The 
opening  was  in  broad  chords  denoting  sunrise  on  a 
clear  morning.  Little  clouds  gather  and  the  wind 
rises.  The  sun  is  obscured.  Rain  begins  to  fall. 
The  leaves  rustle  and  the  trees  creak.  Somber  clouds 
gather  and  are  blown  fiercely  across  the  sky.  Far 
away  the  sun  breaks  through  the  clouds.  Then  all 
is  dark  and  the  rain  falls  in  torrents.  A  terrible 
gale  rages  and  slowly  dies  away.  The  wind  changes 
and  the  sky  clears.  The  sun  struggles  through 
again,  the  last  cloud  passes  away,  and  the  heavens 
become  fine  and  calm.  As  a  picture  piece  it  was 
justly  popular. 

"What  a  very  strange  composition,"  her  mother 
said. 

"I  knew  you  would  prefer  the  giants,  mater/' 
she  laughed,  as  she  took  her  head  and  kissed  her. 
"Now  I'll  play  some  of  your  old  favorites." 

Then  for  half  an  hour  she  played  old  waltzes, 
old  ballads,  bits  from  The  Mikado,  The  Geisha,  and 
so  on.  She  made  Ed  whistle  and  beat  time  with  his 
finger.  Her  mother  was  all  smiles.  She  knew  the  tunes. 

In  her  mother's  room  Ellen  told  the  story  of  her 
engagement  to  Ben  Tonks.  Lady  Horton-Birkett 
did  not  remember  him.  She  had  quite  forgotten  the 
night  of  the  concert,  Ellen's  debut.  Minsterley  Show 
was  another  matter;  she  had  worried  fearfully  about 
the  lost  child. 

"What  is  he  like?" 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  113 

"Like?  I  don't  know — don't  know  how  to  de- 
scribe him,"  she  said  slowly,  surveying  him  in  her 
mind's  eye.  "He's  a  biggish  man,  but  easy,  gentle 
and  rather  reserved.  He's  a  thinker.  The  worst  that 
can  be  said  of  him  is  that  he  has  no  vices — none  I 
know  of.  He  is  very  human,  but  as  moderate  as  an 
animal  out  of  captivity.  He  looks  like  an  athlete." 

"Is  he  well-off?" 

Ellen  smiled  and  shrugged  her  shoulders:  "He 
can  keep  himself  decently." 

"Can  he  keep  you,  too,  decently  ?" 

"We  can  keep  ourselves." 

"But  you  will   be  very  well-off,   Ellen." 

"You  mean " 

"Your  father  is  very  rich." 

"We  shall  not  need  father's  riches.  I've  kept  my- 
self for  over  two  years  now 

"But  there  will  be  your  share  of  my  aunt's  prop- 
erty," her  mother  said.  "It's  not  a  great  deal,  Ellen 
— about  two  thousand  a  year  it  brings  in." 

"That  is   different " 

"How  different?" 

"Well,   I  shan't  take  my   father's  money." 

Lady  Horton-Birkett  could  not  follow  the  drift  of 
Ellen's  thought.  Money  was  money  to  her  mother, 
no  matter  where  it  came  from. 

"You're  a  strange  girl." 

She  did  not  hear  that.  Her  mind  was  fixed  on 
something  Ed  had  said  to  her  in  the  car.  "I  wish 
I  could  earn  my  own  living  like  you,"  he  said,  and 
she  understood  what  prompted  him  to  say  it. 

"Your  aunt's  property  will  go  to  me  and  Evelyn, 
won't  it?"  Ellen  asked. 


114  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Yes,  and  I've  thought  of  making  it  over  to  you 
now.  I  haven't  spoken  to  dad  about  it,  but " 

"Could  you  make  it  over  to  us  now  if  you 
wished  ?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"I  wish  you  would." 

"I'll  see  what  your   father   says." 

Her  mother  seemed  to  be  resigned  to  anything. 
Ellen  pondered  the  great  change  that  had  taken 
place  in  her.  She  expected  a  lecture  on  social  dis- 
tinction, difference  of  birth  and  position,  but  her 
mother  made  no  objection,  nor  did  she  offer  con- 
gratulation. She  listened  to  Ellen's  description  of 
Ben's  career  with  an  impersonal  interest.  Inquisi- 
tive she  might  have  felt,  but  she  gave  no  indica- 
tion of  desiring  particulars  and  details  of  courtship. 
She  was  not  her  old  self.  Ellen  thought  there  was 
a  listlessness  about  her  sometimes  that  was  sad  to 
watch.  Her  energetic,  confident  mother  was  changed, 
and  Ellen  would  have  been  better  pleased  if  there 
had  been  an  outburst  of  displeasure  at  her  marrying 
Ben  Tonks. 

"Evelyn's  at  Wilmslow,"  she  said  dreamily.  "You'll 
see.  Perhaps  I  should  warn  you.  Herbert  set- 
tled the  place  on  her." 

"I  know.    He  told  me." 

"Herbert  did?" 

"I  saw  him  a  few  weeks  ago  at  his  mother's  place." 

"Oh,  then  you've  seen  Adorable." 

"She  sent  love  to  you  and  Cricket." 

Her  mother  sighed  wearily.  Her  eyes  grew  dim. 
Her  hands  lay  lifeless  in  her  lap. 

"Cricket's  going  to  have  a  child,"  she  murmured. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  115 

Ellen's  face  lost  all  its  elfish  look,  and  a  glow 
spread  over  it  like  a  beautiful  veil.  A  quiver  of 
delight  shot  through  her.  An  impatience  to  see 
Evelyn  seized  her,  she  wanted  to  be  near  her,  to  tell 
her  about  Herbert  and  Adorable,  to  comfort  her 
and  share  her  joy  as  she  had  shared  her  sorrow. 

Ed  was  practising  writing  with  his  left  hand,  an 
exercise  which  occupied  him  for  several  hours  every 
day,  when  Ellen  found  him  in  the  library. 

"Will  Clarice  and  Cricket  come  here  or  go  to 
Halters  on  the  other  line?"  she  asked. 

"They  motored  in  from  Wilmslow.  They'll  go 
straight  home.  I'm  going  to  Clungford  to  dine  to- 
night." 

"Get  the  car  out  and  let's  be  off,"  she  urged.  "You 
can  drop  me  at  Wilmslow." 

From  all  physical  appearances  Ellen  and  Evelyn 
might  not  have  sprung  from  the  same  race  let  alone 
from  the  same  parents.  They  were  totally  different 
women.  Evelyn  was  like  Ed;  tall,  strongly  built, 
robustly  healthy,  handsome  figure  and  strong  face. 
Little  Ellen  was  a  by-product,  so  Ed  had  often  said. 
"Little  'un"  she  was  always  called  before  she  went 
away  to  Germany.  It  was  a  strange  meeting :  Ellen 
lost  in  the  arms  of  her  big  young  sister,  and  Evelyn's 
great  tears  soaking  through  her  hair.  Ellen  all  smiles 
and  radiantly  happy  to  be  with  Cricket,  Herbert's 
love,  heavy  with  child.  Ed  couldn't  make  it  out.  He 
was  puzzled. 

"I  left— Clarice— at— at  Clungford,  Ed.  Be  off. 
I— I— want  Ellen— all  to  myself,"  Evelyn  smreled,  as 
she  turned  to  the  porch  and  drew  her  sister  into  the 
house. 


116  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Ed  watched  them  for  a  moment,  then  he  lit  a  cig- 
arette and  got  up  beside  the  chauffeur:  "Clungford, 
Barnes." 

There  had  been  so  far  no  difficulty  about  the  serv- 
ants at  Wilmslow  Lodge.  Lady  Horton-Birkett  found 
a  housekeeper  and  told  her  the  place  belonged  to  Miss 
Evelyn.  And  Miss  Evelyn  she  was  called.  The 
under  servants  were  maids  from  the  neighborhood 
who  knew  the  Horton-Birkett  family;  the  gardeners 
were  Scotch;  the  grooms  were  Irish.  It  was  a  big- 
gish establishment  to  keep  up.  But  with  a  large 
account  to  draw  on  at  Von  Hoist's  bank  in  London 
there  was  no  reason  to  curtail  expenses.  Evelyn 
was  well  provided  for.  The  whispers  of  the  servants 
in  the  hall  about  the  condition  and  position  of  the 
distress  they  loved  had  not  gone  beyond  the  place. 
The  constant  visits  of  the  Clungford  people,  and  Lady 
Horton-Birkett,  gave  an  appearance  of  respectability 
to  an  otherwise  mysterious  eventuality.  It  must  be 
all  right,  the  servants  thought,  or  her  mother  and 
Lady  Clungford  would  not  be  so  free  and  open 
about  it 

"Poor  dear,  she's  married  to  'im,  an'  don't  want 
fo  let  on  because  'e's  a  German,"  Sally  Charles  whis- 
pered to  Jack  Munro,  the  second  gardener. 

"Ye  ken  aboot  richt,"  Jack  nodded.  "Ma  am 
Openion  is  the  puir  lass  is  fair  fasht  at  the  blatter 
aboot  spies,  an'  aw  that.  A  hay  ma  douts  aboot 
all  the  haverin'  in  the  papers.  But  what  the  deils 
didna  ken  'ull  no  offend  their  patriotic  impulses." 

As  time  passed  the  servants  accepted  the  notion 
that  Evelyn  was  married  to  Von  Hoist,  but  that  she 
'did  not  wish  to  be  classed  as  an  alien.  It  was  the 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  117 

agitation  in  the  newspapers  against  alien  enemies  that 
forced  them  to  that  conclusion. 

The  news  of  Von  Hoist  Ellen  brought  from  Ger- 
many to  Evelyn  was  so  precious,  every  word  was 
like  gold  to  her.  "Go  on,"  she  would  cry  when  Ellen 
took  breath.  She  kissed  the  "little  'un"  a  dozen 
times,  and  once  nearly  squeezed  all  the  life  out  of 
her  when  she  said:  "He  told  me  to  tell  you  to 
live  for  him  in  happiness  and  never  grieve.  He  feels 
sure  he  will  come  back  for  you.  He  firmly  believes 
any  one  loving  as  he  does  can't  be  killed." 

Then  she  told  Evelyn  about  Von  Hoist  seeing  Ed 
in  battle  and  speaking  to  him.  How  he  escaped 
death  that  day  was  a  mystery  explainable  only  on  his 
theory  of  the  survival  of  a  great  love.  Adorable, 
knew  everything  and  accepted  everything. 

"When  Herbert  reached  Harwich  in  August  he 
wrote  to  his  bank  in  London  and  told  them  to  notify 
you  to  draw  on  his  account  for  whatever  you 
wished,"  Ellen  said.  "That  was  fine,  for  it  made 
you  independent  of  dad. 

"Yes,  but  I  didn't  think  of  that,"  Evelyn  mur- 
mured. "I  only  wanted  to  keep  this  place  together. 
This  was  to  be  our  home.  How  he  loved  it !  It  will 
be  just  as  he  wanted  it  when  he  comes  back.  I  spend 
only  what  is  necessary." 

"Do  you  see  dad  often?"  Ellen  inquired. 

"No — very  seldom.     I  told  him  to  keep  away." 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  you  take  none  of 
his  money,  Cricket." 

"You  refer  to  the  money  from  armaments?"  Evelyn 
asked,  not  sure  of  her  sister's  meaning. 

"Blood  money." 


118 


"I  hadn't  thought  of  it" 

"Well,  you're  independent  now.  Listen!  You 
know  the  Haughmond  property?  Well,  the  mater 
told  me  to-day  she  thought  of  making  it  over  to  us. 
You  know  it  would  come  to  us  on  mother's  death. 
It  amounts  to  about  two  thousand  pounds  a  year." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"About  that  Now,  darling  Cricket,  I  want  you  to 
promise  me  you'll  join  me  in  making  it  all  over  to 
Ed  as  soon  as  we  get  it." 

"Ed.    But  won't  he  get  all—" 

"He  would — but  don't  you  see.  Listen.  Coming 
up  in  the  car  he  told  me  he  wished  he  could  earn 
his  own  living.  Cricket,  he  doesn't  like  to  be  dependent 
on  dad's  money.  Really  he  doesn't.  Won't  you  let 
him  have  Haughmond  if  mother  will  make  it  over 
to  us?" 

"Of  course,  little  *un — yes." 

Then  Ellen  told  her  of  her  coming  marriage  to  Ben 
Tonks.  It  was  an  hour  of  pure  joy  telling  her  sister 
all  about  him.  The  reserve  she  felt  on  telling  the 
story  to  her  mother  disappeared,  and  she  indulged  her 
desire  to  praise  Ben  to  the  utmost.  Evelyn  listened 
as  if  it  were  an  old  romance  in  modern  dress.  It 
was  like  the  princess  and  the  shepherd  boy,  or  some 
such  tale  of  silent  love  told  at  last. 

"I  never  thought  of  you  that  way,"  Evelyn  sighed. 

"I  know.  You  all  thought  I  was  made  to  be  a 
celebrated  spinster  fiddling  to  protect  my  virtue  from 
long-haired  Bohemians.  I  know,  Cricket,  what  you 
all  thought  about  me.  But  I  have  as  great  a  capacity 
for  deep  insatiable  love  in  my  little  body  as  any  one 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  119 

twice  my  size.     How  I  envy  you,  Cricket!     Well,  I 
shall  have  a  child.     You'll  see,  darling." 

Later  that  evening  Ellen  sent  to  Crowington  for 
her  box.  Evelyn  persuaded  her  to  spend  the  few 
days  with  her.  The  note  Lady  Horton-Birkett  re- 
ceived was  brief. 

"Dear  Mater, 

"I  shall  stay  with  Evelyn  for  a  few  days.  Please 
have  them  pack  my  box  and  put  it  on  the  car. 

"Affectionately, 

"Ellen." 

There  was  nothing  sad  in  that,  nothing  to  cry 
'about.  But  Lady  Horton-Birkett  wept  bitterly. 

Ed  was  at  Clungford.  The  house  was  silent, 
lonely.  She  was  alone  and  unhappy. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THESE  were  the  days  when  Harold  found  many 
ways  of  expressing  himself  on  the  glories  of  war 
when  conducted  by  a  people  who  were  in  league 
with  God.  He  had  no  doubt  as  to  who  was  right 
and  who  was  wrong.  The  God  of  his  fathers  had 
never  deserted  the  country  which  had  spread  light 
and  morality  all  over  the  globe.  Though  there  were 
serious  reverses,  and  victory  seemed  long  in  coming, 
the  end  was  not  in  doubt.  "Onward,  Christian  Sol- 
diers" became  a  part  of  the  service  every  Sunday  at 
Crowington  Church.  And  Harold's  sermons  packed 
full  of  atrocity  stories  called  louder  and  louder,  as 
the  weeks  passed,  for  retribution  and  annihilation. 
The  more  wounded  men  seen  about  the  village  the 
more  earnestly  he  cried  for  recruits.  The  long 
casualty  lists  told  in  plainer  words  than  he  was 
master  of,  the  story  of  the  cowardice  of  shirkers. 
But  Britain  would  triumph,  and  the  fight  for  Chris- 
tian civilization  would  endure  until  the  last  man  and 
the  shilling  were  gone.  Even  if  he  had  to  go  into 
one  of  his  father's  shops,  and  help  to  make  shells — 
rather  that  than  the  domination  of  a  godless  Prussia. 
The  alien  enemy  hunt  agitation  occupied  his  at- 
tention, and  he  wrote  long  letters  to  the  papers  urg- 
ing wholesale  interment,  reprisals  and  national  serv- 
ice. He  studied  German  literature  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  with  a  zest  far  beyond  any  attempt  he  ever 
made  in  studying  English  literature.  German  authors 

120 


A 'STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  121 

helped  his  sermons,  quotations  saved  him  much  ex-» 
ertion,  and  Nietzsche  was  a  gold  mine  of  blasphe- 
mous sentences  to  hurl  at  the  dozen  or  two  sleepy 
farmer  folk  who  went  to  his  church.  He  was  so 
ready  with  German  names — authors  and  titles  of 
books — that  his  fellow  parsons,  knowing  no  more 
than  Harold,  began  to  pay  him  the  respect  due  an 
authority.  He  was  full  of  wind  and  spleen  in  those 
days.  The  bishop  asked  him  to  preach  a  series  of 
sermons  at  the  cathedral.  He  became  popular  with 
the  adherents  of  Anglican  militancy,  and  stood  well 
with  the  real  old  county  families. 

Soon  after  the  war  began  his  father  urged  him  to 
put  his  wife's  money  in  armament  firms.  She  had 
a  few  thousands  scattered  about  in  soap,  rubber,  tea 
and  margarine  companies,  paying  about  five  per  cent. 
The  change  was  effected  and  prosperity  shone  on 
Mrs.  Harold's  new  investments.  Sir  Alfred  made 
her  a  present  of  a  small  block  of  shares  in  the  Haigh 
Shell  and  Bullet  Company  on  the  birth  of  his  first 
grandson.  Mrs.  Harold  was  almost  reconciled  to 
dissent  and  liberalism  by  the  kindness  of  her  father- 
in-law. 

"Things  are  going  very  well,  eh,  dad?"  Harold 
remarked,  in  an  offhand  manner. 

"Very  badly,  my  boy " 

Harold  blanched  and  looked  alarmed.     "Badly!" 

"You  mean  the  front?" 

"No,  the  front — no!  Business."  Harold  blurted, 
with  a  big  sigh  of  relief. 

"Oh,  yes,  oh,  I  see.  Thought  you  meant  the 
western  front  or  the  Russians.  Business,  yes — very 


122  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

well,  indeed.  But  I'm  afraid  it's  going  to  be  a  long 
drawn  out  affair." 

"It  does  drag  a  bit." 

"I  wish  it  were  over,"  his  mother  sighed. 

"Patience,  mother,  patience.  Wait  until  we  are 
ready  for  the  great  offensive  in  May.  Then  I" 

"Evie,  did  I  tell  you  a  Zeppelin  passed  over  our 
bid  house  at  Hampstead  and  dropped  a  bomb  not  a 
hundred  yards  from  it?"  Sir  Alfred  said. 

"Mercy!"  his  wife  gasped.  "No,  you  didn't  tell 
me." 

"Providence!  Eh,  Harold?  You  know  we  might 

have  been  there  yet  if "  Sir  Alfred  muttered, 

with  a  reverent  shake  of  his  head. 

"God  has  been  good  to  us,"  Harold  observed. 

His  mother  looked  out  of  the  window  and  coughed. 
"Urn!"  she  said. 

"When  is  the  House  going  to  deal  seriously  with 
all  these  alien  enemies  and  spies?"  Harold  asked. 

"I  can't  say.   *The  Government  is  slow  about  it." 

"It's  my  opinion  Germans  here  signal  to  these  air- 
ships and  do  all  sorts  of  things." 

His  mother's  heart  fluttered  uneasily.  It  was  a 
topic  she  always  strove  to  avoid.  Harold  had  not 
been  told  of  Evelyn's  condition.  All  he  knew  of 
his  sister's  residence  at  Wilmslow  was  that  Von 
Hoist  had  given  her  the  property  when  they  became 
engaged. 

"Spies  are  all  over  the  country,"  Sir  Alfred  said. 
"A  very  influential  man  was  deported  only  the  other 
day.  It's  not  known  outside,  and  it  will  be  kept  quiet. 
He  was  caught  corresponding  through  a  third  person 
in  Holland." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  123 

"Shameful.  They  ought  to  shoot  a  few/'  the 
vicar  exclaimed. 

Lady  Horton-Birkett  coughed  and  tried  to  catch 
her  husband's  eye,  but  she  failed. 

Harold  was  on  his  feet:  "I  heard  a  nice  story  the 
other  day  when  I  was  in  Minsterley.  I  was  told — 
and  the  information  comes  from  the  highest  au- 
thority— "  Just  then  Ed  came  into  the  room,  and 
his  mother  rose  to  greet  him,  thankful  Harold's 
story  was  interrupted. 

"Hullo,  Ed,"  Harold  nodded.  "When  are  you 
going  up  to  get  your  cross?" 

"Not  yet  a  bit.  Go  on  with  the  information  from 
the  highest  authority,"  he  said.  "Sorry  to  inter- 
rupt." 

"Oh,  yes.  But  you  won't  like  it,  I'm  thinking. 
It's  about  your  pal,  Von  Hoist." 

"What  about  him?" 

"One  of  the  worst  spies " 

"It's  a  lie,"  Ed  put  in  quietly. 

"Fact,  Ed."  Harold  smiled  and  nodded  with  cer- 
tainty. 

"It's  a  lie."  Ed  sharpened  his  tone. 

"Harold,  please  be  careful,"  his  mother  pleaded. 

"What  should  Ed  know  about  it?"  the  vicar  de- 
manded. "My  information  is  guaranteed " 

"What  is  it?   Out  with  it!"  Ed  ordered.  / 

"Don't  bully  me,  Ed.    I  won't  have  it." 

"Don't  wriggle.  No  cant  now.  Come  on.  Who 
told  you?" 

"That  is  private." 

"And  the  information,  too?"  sneered  Ed. 

"Well,    if   you   want    to   know   he's   been   buying 


124  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

horses  for  the  German  army,"  Harold  snapped  tri- 
umphantly. 

Ed  laughed  derisively:  "At  five  hundred  pounds 
a  piece.  Present  my  compliments  to  your  informant 
whether  he's  an  archdeacon  or  a  recruiting  general, 
and  tell  him  I  say  he  lies.  The  only  horse  Herbert 
assisted  in  sending  to  Germany  was  the  one  I  pre- 
sented to  his  mother.  Now  listen.  To  save  you 
from  making  a  complete  ass  of  yourself  let  me  tell 
you  how  things  stand " 

"Ed,  no,  no,"  from  his  mother  in  tears. 

"Please  don't,  Ed,"  his  father  cried. 

Harold  was  pale  and  trembling  from  anger. 

Ed  put  his  mother  aside  and  waved  his  father 
'from  him.  He  went  slowly  over  to  Harold  and 
looked  him  straight  in  the  face. 

"You  should  have  known  Evelyn  was  engaged  to 
Herbert.  You  know  that,  but  you  forgot.  They 
would  have  been  married  had  it  not  been  for 
their  desire  to  see  Clarice  and  me  married  first. 
They  put  theirs  off  so  that  ours  should  be  the  big  do. 
You  would  have  married  them.  Don't  forget  that. 
Well,  war  upsets  a  lot  of  plans,  and  in  the  rush  Evelyn 
and  Herbert  hadn't  time  to  do  things  in  the  conven- 
tional way." 

"You  mean  he " 

"I  mean  Evelyn's  going  to  have  a  child " 

"Good  heavens!" 

"Awkward,  isn't  it?" 

"But  the  disgrace,  Ed " 

"Not  so  bad  as  if  you  married  'em." 

Ed  walked  away  to  the  window,  lit  a  cigarette 
rnd  strolled  out  into  the  garden. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  125 

"You  brought  this  on  yourself,"  his  mother  said 
sadly.  She  went  to  Harold  and  caressed  him.  "Come, 
don't  be  angry.  Poor  Ed  has  an  awful  lot  to  put 
up  with." 

"I  should  think  he  has,"  Harold  sneered  bitterly. 
"So  would  any  one  who  was  known  as  a  funk " 

"How   dare  you?"  his   father   cried. 

"Dad,  dad "  his  wife  pleaded  beseechingly. 

"If  I  thought  you  believed  that  dastardly  story  I'd 
leave  you  without  a  penny,"  Sir  Alfred  throbbed 
with  indignation.  He  stood  with  clenched  hands  be- 
fore Harold  trembling  with  rage. 

"You've  never  cared  for  me,"  Harold  whined. 
"Because  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  your 
ranting  chapel  lot.  You've  hated  me  ever  since  I 
entered  the  church." 

"And  I  gave  you  this  living.  Go  to  your  vicarage 
and  don't  let  me  see  you  again." 

"Oh,  this  horrible,  detestable  war,"  Lady  Horton- 
Birkett  sobbed,  as  she  passed  out  of  the  room. 

Harold  had  sunk  deep  into  a  big  armchair.  De- 
jection covered  him.  He  twisted  the  bowl  of  his 
pipe  in  his  white  hands,  and  stared  at  the  toes  of  his 
father's  boots  which  were  shaped  like  the  claws  of 
a  crab.  He  began  to  count  with  the  ticking  of  his  watch. 

"Do  you  believe  that  story  of  Ed  funking?"  his 
father  asked  in  a  deeply  grieved  tone. 

"Everybody  does." 

"That's  not  true — for  I've  seen  Major  Pomeroy- 
Fanton  and  he  says  no  one  at  the  front  believes  it 
— but  Jawton.  And  he  will  have  to  take  back  what 
he  said  to  Ed." 

"Will  he?" 


126  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Well,  they'll  want  to  know  why  Ed  will  not 
accept  the  Victoria  Cross." 

"Not  accept " 

"Ed  won't  take  it    Won't  have  it." 

Sir  Alfred  looked  at  Harold  with  a  glance  of  con- 
tempt. 

"Anyway,  you  have  earned  the  distinction  of  being 
about  the  only  man  who  thinks  the  Victoria  Cross 
is  presented  to  cowards.  Now,  Harold,  I  want  to  tell 
you  what  I  think  about  your  very  dear  friends  round 
about  here  and  in  Minsterley.  I  know  the  set  you're 
in,  and  the  people  you  get  your  information  from. 
Three  of  your  political  and  religious  friends  have 
owed  me  money  they  borrowed  some  years  ago — one 
is  a  very  high  churchman,  another  is  a  landlord — I 
see,  you  know  the  men  I  mean.  Well  to-morrow  or 
the  next  day  I  ask  them  to  meet  their  I.  O.  U.s — 

"No,  no — for  heaven's  sake.  Not  my  wife's  uncle. 
Not  the  archdeacon.  Please  don't."  He  followed  his 
father  as  he  passed  to  and  fro.  "I'm  awfully  sorry, 
dad.  I  lost  my  temper,  really.  You  know  what  a 
beastly  bad  one  I've  got.  I'm  very  sorry  for  what 
I've  said." 

Sir  Alfred's  relations  with  the  business  world 
taught  him  how  to  avenge  himself  on  impecunious 
swells.  He  knew  the  archdeacon  hadn't  a  stiver 
to  bless  himself  with.  He  had  been  in  debt  for 
years.  He  knew  Mrs.  Harold's  uncle  lived  from 
hand  to  mouth.  He  knew  these  men  despised  him, 
and  borrowed  his  money.  He  knew  they  influenced 
Harold  and  used  him  constantly.  The  threat  to  ask 
for  the  money  hurt  Harold  more  than  a  blow  from 
a  fist.  He  curled  up  like  a  feather  before  the  fire. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  127 

For  several  days  after  the  interview  with  his  father 
he  was  remarkably  quiet.  It  was  the  first  time  in 
Sir  Alfred's  life  he  felt  like  thrashing  one  of  his 
progeny. 

"Alfred,  I  want  to  give  the  Haughmond  property 
to  the  girls,"  Lady  Horton-Birkett  said,  as  she  lay 
beside  her  husband  in  bed  one  morning  in  May.  "I 
wish  you  would  attend  to  it." 

"But  why,  Evie?" 

"Do  it  to  please  me.  Ellen  hasn't  much,  you  know." 

"She  can  have  all  she  wants." 

"Yes,  but  you  see,  she  insists  on  earning  her 
own  living." 

"She's  splendid,  Evie.  There's  a  girl  for  you!  I 
wish  there  were  more  like  her.  Independent,  fear- 
less, and  no  nonsense  about  her.  It  is  a  pity  they've 
been  able  to  go  to  their  own  pace  so  much.  I  should 
have  liked  to  see  more  of  'em.  They've  shot  up  be- 
fore I've  realized  it.  Sometimes  I  wonder  if  they're 
my  children.  I  see  so  little  of  them  now." 

"You've  been  so  busy,  dad.  But  do  transfer 
Haughmond  to  Ellen  and  Evelyn.  Get  it  done  for 
me." 

"Very  good,  dear.  I'll  attend  to  it  when  I  get 
to  town.  It  isn't  much,  is  it?" 

"No,  not  much." 

He  often  wondered  why  Ellen  was  so  keen  to 
earn  her  own  living.  He  admired  her  for  it,  never- 
theless, he  would  have  liked  to  shower  luxuries  on 
her.  Only  once  he  thought  she  might  not  like  his 
chief  business  in  life.  Only  once,  and  then  he  dis- 
missed the  thought  with  scorn.  It  was  a  perfectly 


128  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

legitimate  industry.  There  was  no  law  against  mak- 
ing and  selling  shells.  He  was  the  last  man  in  the 
world  to  want  a  war — the  very  last.  Yet  Ellen  al- 
ways made  him  feel  when  she  sent  him  a  line  in 
recent  years  that  she  was  heartily  glad  she  wanted 
none  of  his  money.  She  despised  riches  he  knew, 
and  she  was  an  inveterate  Socialist  or  something. 
Besides,  he  comforted  himself  with  the  notion  got 
from  Murger's  Vie  de  Boheme,  read  on  the  quiet, 
that  artists  worked  better  on  small  incomes.  After 
her  return  from  Germany  she  had  been  rather  face- 
tious, badgering.  She  twitted  him  on  armaments  and 
religion.  That  he  put  down  to  her  utter  detestation 
of  war  and  churchianity.  She  was  a  rebellious  pa- 
cifist. He  understood  her,  and  did  not  take  her  gibes 
unkindly.  She  had  always  been  a  naughty  child.  She 
was  spoiled  by  too  much  liberty  when  she  was  young, 
so  he  thought.  Ellen,  on  the  other  hand,  thought  his 
mental  hide  was  too  thick. 

She  had,  however,  upset  him  by  telling  him  the 
people  in  Germany  were  confident  of  success,  that 
everything  over  there  was  orderly,  and  though  the 
people  were  careful  and  frugal  there  was  food 
enough.  It  sounded  so  pro-German.  He  didn't  like  it. 
He  told  her  so. 

"But  I  am  pro-German,"  Ellen  said. 

"For  goodness  sake,  dear,  don't  let  any  one  hear 
you  say  that,"  he  whispered  in  awe. 

"Why  not?  You  were  a  pro-Boer.  I  remember 
that.  Can't  one  take  sides? 

"No,  not  if  you  want  a  quiet  life." 

"Can't  I  be  pro-German  without  being  in  favor 
of  their  detestable  form  of  government?" 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  -          129 

"You  shouldn't  be  pro-German  at  all." 

"What  a  nice  country  to  live  in.  Is  thinking  per- 
mitted?" 

"You  little  tease."  He  shook  his  finger  at  her  half 
in  play,  and  added  gravely:  "But  I  mean  it — Britain 
is  no  place  for  rebels  just  now." 

"The  refuge  of  the  oppressed  is  gone,  eh?  Have 
they  dug  up  John  Bright  and  burned  his  bones,  dad?" 

"You  must  be  serious,"  he  said. 

"I  will  be,  dad,  and  tell  you  what  I  think  of  your 
cry  pro-German.  It  means  no  more  than  pro-Boer 
did.  Be  honest  and  admit  the  cry  pro-German 
against  English  thinkers  really  means  'don't  criticize 
the  Government/  Every  decent-minded  person  who 
thinks  seriously,  who  wants  to  believe  in  the  real 
good  of  people  everywhere,  is  labeled  anti-British. 
Pro-German  as  a  cry  means  my  country  right  or 
wrong.  It  means  no  questions  are  permitted.  As  a 
cry  it  is  a  cloak  under  which  a  body  of  incompetent 
statesmen  can  plunge  a  nation  into  an  unnecessary 
war,  conduct  it  with  the  greatest  loss  of  life  and  at 
the  greatest  cost.  That's  what  I  think — seriously." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  She  meant  it,  he 
could  tell  she  meant  it  all.  And  somehow  there  was 
enough  of  the  old  Radical  strain  left  in  him  to  ad- 
mire her  candor.  Though  he  disagreed  with  her,  he 
felt  good  to  hear  some  one  express  an  opinion  of 
that  kind  without  fear. 

When  Ellen  sent  him  a  note  to  the  House  asking 
him  to  meet  her  and  Ben  at  the  registrar's  office,  he 
was  so  tickled  he  could  not  refrain  from  telling  two 
or  three  of  his  cronies  in  the  smoke  room  of  the 
Commons.  There  was  some  satisfaction  in  having 


130  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

an  unconventional  daughter  he  thought.  For  her  to 
marry  a  small  farmer's  son  who  had  climbed  up 
alone  to  be  a  well-known  journalist,  a  novelist  and 
a  popular  lecturer  was  unconventional  he  thought. 
And  she  looked  such  a  bit  of  a  thing  as  she  stood  be- 
side Ben  in  the  registrar's  office. 

"No  presents,  dad — remember,  I  mean  it,"  Ellen 
said. 

They  went  away  to  Ambleside  for  a  week  and 
roamed  about  Rydal  and  Langdale.  Then  they  went 
back  to  Crowington.  Her  mother  told  her  the  Haugh- 
mond  property  had  been  transferred  to  her  and 
Evelyn. 

Ben  got  on  very  well  with  Ellen's  mother.  It 
was  the  first  time  she  had  come  into  contact  with 
a  Socialist  or  something,  and  the  surprise  to  find  such 
a  person  was  refined — highly  cultivated,  she  thought 
— gave  her  great  pleasure.  She  had  met  a  high 
church  dignitary  who  was  known  to  be  a  Socialist, 
but  in  his  case  he  came  of  an  old  family,  and  he  al- 
ways voted  Tory.  Ben  was  different  His  father 
lived  in  the  village,  and  only  a  few  days  ago  she  saw 
him  carting  muck  to  the  fields.  Still  the  only  matter 
that  troubled  Ellen's  mother  was  the  marriage.  A 
legal  marriage  seemed  to  her  almost  worse  than  no 
marriage.  It  was  a'pity.  Had  they  been  married  in 
a  chapel  it  would  not  have  been  so  bad.  And  there 
was  Evelyn.  How  unusual  both  daughters  should 
have  acted  so  strangely.  Heaven  knows  she  had  al- 
ways striven  to  show  them  what's  what  in  a  properly 
conducted  Anglican  world.  She  had  always  been  a 
great  church-woman.  Was  her  marriage  a  failure 
in  that  respect?  She  feared  her  daughters  were  athe- 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  131 

Ists.  They  never  went  to  church  now.  Evelyn  had 
not  been  to  a  service  since  the  war  broke  out.  And 
when  she  came  to  think  of  it  Clarice,  too,  had  not 
been  seen  at  Crowington  Church  for  months. 

Tea  on.  the  lawn  at  Wilmslow,  on  a  fine  warm 
'day,  was  an  exceedingly  pleasant  way  of  spending 
an  hour.  The  hills  and  woods  of  Mickley  rose  in 
tiers,  intersected  with  small  farms,  for  a  distance 
of  four  miles.  The  view  looking  south  was  full  of  the 
charm  of  the  Marches.  To  the  north,  a  long  valley 
widened  away  far  off  to  the  Staffordshire  hills. 
Give  Hill  stood  like  a  primitive  natural  fortress 
down  in  the  west — black  and  bulky  against  the  sun 
sinking  among  the  mountains  of  Wales. 

Lady  Horton-Birkett  sipped  her  tea  and  regret- 
ted she  had  forgotten  her  saccharine.  Evelyn,  Clarice 
and  Ellen  were  enjoying  toasted  muffins.  Lady 
Clungford  threw  bits  of  biscuit  to  two  Inverness 
pups.  How  any  one  could  think  of  war  and  be  pres- 
ent in  that  scene  was  almost  inconceivable.  The 
calm,  the  joy  of  the  air,  the  early  April  rapture  of 
the  birds,  the  numberless  greens  in  hedges,  woods 
and  gardens,  the  great  blue,  slightly  cloud-ribbed 
sky,  and  yet  each  woman  thought  of  the  war.  Lady 
Clungford  thought  of  Billy;  Clarice  of  him,  cous- 
ins, friends — and  Herbert.  Lady  Horton-Birkett 
thought  of  Ed— and  Robert  there,  and  Fred  going. 
Evelyn's  thoughts  were  all  for  the  father  of  her 
child.  And  Ellen — well,  her  thoughts  for  the  mo- 
ment were  on  an  inn  at  Chiem,  beside  the  lake,  far 
away  in  Bavaria,  wheie  she  had  stopped  for  a 
while  in  that  last  week  of  July. 


132 


"Have  you  seen  Harold,  Ellen?"  her  sister  asked. 

"No,  what's  he  doing?" 

"Praising  the  British  God  and  bullying  men  to  go 
Where  he'll  never  go  himself,"  Evelyn  muttered. 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  Harold,"  her  mother  sighed. 

"Hard  on  him?  Mother,  don't  waste  your  sym- 
pathy on  Harold.  Really  when  I  think  of  him  I 
wonder  if  this  isn't  a  parson's  war,"  Evelyn  cried. 

"No,  my  dear,  it's  an  old  man's  war,"  Lady  Clung- 
ford  interjected.  "You  take  my  tip,  Cricket — old 
men!" 

"Yes,  there's  something  in  that,"  Ellen  agreed. 
"Old  fusty  notions,  senile  creeds,  fossilized  methods, 
and  tottering  systems.  And  some  of  the  old  men 
are  young  in  years — numbers  of  them.  A  week  in 
London  just  now  is  enough  to  drive  a  healthy- 
minded  creature  to  a  mad  house.  You  ought  to  see 
the  recruiting  posters " 

"I've  heard  of  them.  Awful,  I'm  told,"  Lady 
Clungford  exclaimed,  raising  her  hands  on  high. 

"Really,  the  impression  they  conveyed  to  me  was 
that  the  authorities  implicitly  believe  seventy-five  per 
cent,  of  the  people  of  Britain  are  arrant  cowards." 

"Ellen !"  her  mother  cried,  shocked  beyond  measure. 

"I've  heard  that,  dear,"  Clarice  nodded.  "General 
Pennett  says  they  are  disgusting." 

"And  the  literature!  Horrors!  It's  nasty!"  Ellen 
gasped. 

"I  think  it  would  be  better  if  the  people  went  to 
church  and  tried  to  get  into  a  Christian  frame  of 
mind,"  Lady  Horton-Birkett  said.  "All  this  rancor 
and  ill-feeling  is  most  unseemly.  In  those  beautiful 
letters  in  the  Times  written  by  Mr.  Burroughs  I  find 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  133 

great  consolation.  If  I  had  my  way  I  would  print  them 
in  little  books  and  send  them  into  every  home  in  the 
kingdom.  We  are  suffering  because  we  have  for- 
saken God,  because  our  souls  are  dark  and  selfish, 
and  we  shall  not  know  happiness  and  peace  again  un- 
til we  are  at  peace  with  ourselves." 

Their  eyes  had  a  far  away  look  in  them.  The 
quiet  was  wonderful.  Somewhere  in  the  lane,  some 
distance  off,  a  lad  sang  a  few  bars  of  Tipperary. 
Then  from  a  meadow  came  the  lowing  of  cattle  call- 
ing to  be  milked.  The  silent  intervals  seemed  to  ac- 
centuate every  sound.  High  above  them  a  lark,  like 
a  speck  in  the  sky,  had  been  singing  all  the  time. 

After  Lady  Qungford  and  Clarice  left  them,  Ellen 
asked  when  Ed  and  Clarice  were  to  be  married. 

"I  don't  know,"  Evelyn  murmured  dreamily. 
"Since  Ed  came  back  Clarice  hasn't  said  a  word 
about  it." 

"Nothing  has   happened?" 

"Nothing.   They're  the  best  of  pals." 

"What  do  you  think,  mater?"  Ellen  asked. 

"I  can't  make  it  out,  dear." 

"You  think  something's  up,"  Evelyn  exclaimed. 

"Well,  no,  not  exactly.  But  I've  noticed  a  change 
since  Ed  got  better,  since  Clarice  went  home  and  he 
required  no  more  nursing.  He  doesn't  go  over  to 
Clungford  so  often  now,  and  Clarice  hasn't  been  to 
see  us  for  quite  a  month." 

Evelyn  twisted  restively:   "I  wonder  what's  up." 

"They're  not  a  demonstrative  pair  at  any  time," 
their  mother  muttered  wearily.  "Evelyn,  you  might 
speak  to  Clarice  when  you  get  a  chance.  She  comes 
every  day  to  see  you,  doesn't  she?" 


134  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Yes.  She  made  up  her  mind  to  have  Billy  give 
her  away,  you  know.  Perhaps  that's  it.  Now  Billy 
is  at  the  front  she  might  not  care — you  know,  Clarice 
is  funny  about  some  things.  I  don't  know  what's 
the  matter.  I'll  ask  her." 

"I  thought  her  brother  was  dead,"  Ellen  remarked. 
"Died  in  India." 

"He  got  over  it.  Awfully  bad  for  some  time. 
Drinks  like  a  fish.  Awful  rotter,  they  say,  but 
Clarice  sticks  to  him  like  glue." 

Lady  Clungford,  too,  was  anxious  about  Clarice 
and  Ed.  She  had  noticed  something.  It  was  subtle. 
They  were  every  bit  as  happy  as  before,  but  of  late, 
since  Ed  was  well,  they  had  not  met  so  frequently. 
The  coolness  was  noticeable  when  they  were  apart. 
It  was  a  coolness  which  was  only  evident  by  con- 
trast; and  Lady  Clungford  was  satisfied  it  existed 
and  was  growing,  because  Clarice  spoke  less  and 
less  to  her  of  Ed. 

"What's  the  row,  Clarice?"  she  asked,  after  dinner 
one  night.  "You  and  Ed  had  a  quarrel  ?" 

"No.     Quarrel?     No,  mother." 

"But  there's  something  up,  I  know.    What  is  it?" 

"Nothing.    Really." 

Great  tears  came  gushing  from  her  eyes.  She  sat 
tight  for  a  moment  trying  to  control  herself.  But  the 
passion  conquered  her,  and  she  threw  herself  down 
before  her  mother  in  a  paroxysm  of  grief.  Her  head 
lay  in  her  mother's  lap.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
she  mastered  her  emotion. 

"Come  now,  tell  me  all  about  it." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  135 

"It — it's — the  story  about — about  Ed — Ed  funking 
it,"  she  sobbed. 

"Well,   what   about   it?" 

"He — he  hasn't  said  anything — to— to  me.  Not — a 
word/' 

"Perhaps  he  can't.  He  might  get  some  one  into 
trouble  if  he  did.  What  would  the  general" — she  al- 
ways called  her  husband  the  general — "say  about  it? 
Mum's  the  word.  Can't  be  helped!  Discipline!  Or- 
ders!" 

"He  might  have  said — something  to  me." 

"Maybe  he  doesn't  dream  you  would  put  any  stock 
in  the  yarn." 

"But  it's  true.  Billy  says  so " 

"Billy  says  so?" 

"He  wrote  to  me  about  it." 

"The  devil  he  did.     Where's  the  letter?" 

"Up-stairs." 

"Get  it.  Let  me  see  it." 

Lady  Clungford  did  not  believe  the  story  because 
her  son  said  it  was  true.  She  knew  Billy.  It  takes 
all  kinds  to  make  an  army,  anywhere,  and  she  knew 
her  son  was  not  a  thinker.  Billy  failed  in  everything, 
but  got  into  the  service  somehow.  A  tutor  at  Brighton 
did  something  for  him  no  one  else  could  do.  When 
Billy  came  into  the  title  he  made  hay  of  the  estate 
in  five  years.  He  now  reposed  in  the  hands  of 
money-lenders  and  a  few  very  shady  commission 
merchants  abroad.  The  war  saved  him  many  finan- 
cial worries  by  giving  him  the  refuge  of  the  mora- 
torium. 

Clarice  returned  with  the  letter,  tear-stained  and 


136  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

rather  crumpled.  Lady  Clungford  smoothed  it  out 
and  put  her  glasses  on. 

"March  15,  1915. 
"Dear  Old  Girl: 

"I  suppose  you've  heard  all  about  E.  H.  B.  and 
the  rotten  mess  he's  made  of  it.  You  must  feel  rotten. 
Well  I  don't  wonder.  And  now  I  see  he's  recom- 
mended for  the  Vic.  X.  Good  Lord!  Out  here  they 
say  it's  influence.  His  dad's  at  the  bottom  of  that. 

Good  old  J n  told  me  E.  H.  B.  was  always  a 

slacker.  Certainly  he  did  something  to  redeem  him- 
self by  helping  his  major  and  a  sergeant  to  cover. 
Mighty  glad  of  the  excuse,  if  you  ask  me.  Well, 
cheer  up,  old  girl,  there's  plenty  of  fish  in  the  sea. 
Don't  break  your  heart  over  him.  This  is  to  say 
how  sorry  I  am. 

"Your  loving  brother, 

"Billy. 

"P.  S.  I'm  comfortably  fixed  up  down  at  the  base, 
but  as  keen  as  mustard  to  have  a  go  at  them.  Love 
to  mother." 

Clarice  watched  her  mother's  face  as  she  read  the 
letter.  Lady  Clungford  turned  it  over  once  or  twice, 
and  then  made  a  grimace.  She  handed  it  back  to 
Clarice  and  said:  "Your  loving  brother,  eh?" 

"Wouldn't  Billy  know?" 

"Any  one  could  fill  Billy  with  any  yarn  so  long  as 
they  gave  him  plenty  of  liquor  to  keep  it  down.  Poor 
Billy,  he  takes  after  your  grandfather,  my  dear." 

"He's  wild,  mother,  but  his  heart's  all  right." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  she  said,  thinking  of  the 
years  when  Billy's  heart  was  in  the  keeping  of  two 
ladies,  one  in  London,  the  other  in  Paris,  who  cost 
him  about  fifteen  thousand  pounds  in  twelve  months. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  137 

Clarice  was  then  about  ten  years  old.  She  did  not 
know  much  about  Billy. 

"Still,  Ed  might  have  told  me.  It's  not  nice  of 
him  to  let  me "  she  stopped  suddenly. 

"Let  you  what?" 

"Well,  the  last  time  I  went  into  Minsterley — with 
- — Cricket — I  met  the  archdeacon,  and  he — well  he 
upset  me " 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  sneered  when  I  told  him  about  Ed  and  the 
Victoria  Cross.  He  said  Ed's  dad  had  tremendous 
influence." 

"So  he  has.  But  ten  thousand  such  'dads  couldn't 
get  the  cross  for  a  son  if  he  hadn't  a  right  to  it. 
Look  here,  Clarice,  you've  let  this  thing  get  on  your 
nerves,  or  else  you  wouldn't  let  a  jabbering  old  beetle 
like  the  archdeacon  upset  you.  You  ought  to  know 
there's  a  set  in  this  county  which  loathes  Sir  Alfred 
and  all  his  lot.  Evie  is  persona  grata.  She  is  hall- 
marked. But  Sir  Alfred  and  his  lads  are  not  liked. 
Don't  be  alarmed.  It's  only  because  the  Horton- 
Birketts  are  rich  enough  to  buy  half  this  county's 
families.  That's  it.  When  they  took  Crowington  our 
lot  tried  to  get  me  to  join  a  clique  against  them,  but 
I  wouldn't  touch  it  with  tongs.  It  failed  because 
most  of  the  men  who  started  it  found  after  a  bit  Sir 
Alfred  was  an  easy  mark  for  small  investments  and 
I.  O.  U's.  Well  the  church  nobs  at  Minsterley  got 
hold  of  that  wooden-headed  Harold  and  made  a  par- 
son of  him.  I  don't  think  there  was  much  in  him 
anyway,  but  that  settled  it.  Little  girl,  I'm  getting 
on,  and  I've  seen  a  lot  in  my  time.  You  take  mother's 
tip  and  think  things  out  for  yourself.  And  don't  be 


138  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

a  fool  about  Ed.  In  an  age  like  this  it's  a  blessing 
to  know  a  man  that  doesn't  talk  much." 

Clarice  was  learning  some  history  about  the  neigh- 
borhood and  her  friends.  It  grieved  her  deeply  to 
hear  her  mother  speak  so  severely  of  the  archdeacon. 

"But  surely  Ed  will  try  to  clear  himself." 

"Try,  of  course,  he  will.  If  they  give  him  the 
chance.  If!" 

"He  did  say  there  was.  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of." 

"Did  he?  Then  you  have  no  reason  to  worry." 

"And  yet  he  has  not  got  the  cross  yet." 

"He  hasn't  been  up  to  town." 

"He  doesn't  seem  to  want  it." 

"Well,  your  father  didn't  think  much  of  medals, 
and  you  know  how  many  he  had.  All  I  got  out  of  the 
South  African  War  was  a  couple  of  pieces  of  metal, 
when,  with  decent  medical  attention  and  food,  I 
should  have  got  your  father  back  again.  Men  who 
have  had  a  dose  of  the  British  War  Office  at  work, 
don't  think  medals  compensate  for  its  everlasting 
blundering  and  incompetency." 

Lady  Clungford  picked  up  a  picture  paper,  kicked 
her  slippers  off  and  settled  down  to  read  herself  to 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WHEN  Evelyn's  child  was  born  a  new  difficulty 
arose.  What  was  to  be  done  about  the  par- 
entage of  it?  Its  birth  had  to  be  registered.  The 
more  the  family  council  discussed  the  question  the 
worse  the  dilemma  appeared.  Evelyn  never  de- 
parted from  her  intention  of  simply  registering  the 
facts.  And  in  the  end  her  wish  was  carried  out. 
Count  Herbert  Von  Hoist  was  recorded  father 
of  the  child.  Ed  attended  to  the  business.  When 
the  question  of  baptism  came  up  another  council 
debated  for  several  days  without  success.  Ed  said 
he  would  rather  the  child  never  had  water  in  its 
life  than  be  baptized  by  Harold.  Ellen  was  dead 
against  the  church  in  or  out  of  the  county.  In  the 
end  Tonks'  Chapel  was  chosen.  Ellen  went  to  see 
Mr.  Bagnell,  the  minister,  and  he  said  he  would  be 
glad  to  baptize  it.  When  Harold  heard  of  it  he  was 
angry,  and  said  unkind  things  ^about  the  children  of 
Huns. 

Then  life  for  Evelyn  was  made  unbearable.  A 
craftily  planned  agitation  began  with  anonymous 
postcards  addressed  to  the  Countess  Von  Hoist, 
Wilmslow  Lodge.  The  servants  were  pestered  too. 
One  day  a  man  left  a  package  containing  a  German 
helmet.  Through  the  post  Evelyn  received  clippings 
from  newspapers  recording  great  slaughter  of  Ger- 
man armies.  The  campaign  was  ably  conducted. 
The  post-marks  were  from  the  towns  within  a  radius 

139 


140  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

of  twenty  miles.  Some  of  the  servants  left,  unable 
to  bear  the  jeers  of  those  serving  at  one  or  two 
houses  in  the  neighborhood.  Clarice  was  not  for- 
gotten. Some  one  sent  her  a  note  asking  if  she  were 
godmother  to  the  little  Hun. 

Then  a  weekly  paper  famous  for  its  patriotism, 
and  the  businesslike  traits  of  its  editor,  printed  a 
story  of  the  doing  of  Count  Herbert  Von  Hoist, 
"the  spy  in  the  pay  of  the  Kaiser."  The  story  left 
nothing  to  the  imagination  of  the  paper's  readers. 
The  editor,  knowing  the  intelligence  of  his  readers, 
could  not  risk  lowering  the  circulation  by  doing  such 
a  thing.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  edition  of  the 
paper  sold  well  for  many  miles  round  about  Min- 
sterley.  The  news  agent  in  Crowington  received  an 
extra  quantity  that  week,  and  was  told  to  bill  it  for 
all  he  was  worth. 

The  story  was  an  exceptionally  fine  example  of 
the  literature  which  the  war  "leaders  of  thought" 
sold  weekly  to  a  large  section  of  the  British  public. 
It  was  remarkable  inasmuch  as  the  writer  was  ac- 
curate as  to  Von  Hoist's  full  name,  the  date  of  his 
birth,  his  school,  his  university,  and  the  names  of 
his  houses  in  town  and  in  the  country.  There  ac- 
curacy came  to  an  untimely  end.  The  rest  was  as 
bankrupt  of  truth  as  an  atheist  is  when  he  says  he 
believes  God  will  defend  the  right.  Numbers  of  the 
issue  were  sent  to  Evelyn.  Ed  was  too  late  to  keep 
a  copy  from  her.  He  saw  the  contents  bill  in  the 
village,  jumped  back  into  the  car  and  told  Barnes 
to  drive  "all  out"  for  Wilmslow.  When  he  got  there 
Evelyn  was  on  her  bed,  "raving."  They  got  her  to 
Crowington  where  she  was  very  ill  for  some  weeks. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  141 

When  Sir  Alfred  heard  of  what  had  happened  to 
Evelyn,  he  felt,  for  a  moment,  like  giving  up  making 
shells  to  kill  enemies  abroad  and  devoting  his  at- 
tention to  making  combustibles  to  destroy  the  ene- 
mies at  home.  He  had  had  a  lively  time  at  the  War 
Office  about  Ed,  and  told  them  what  he  thought  of 
Jawton.  He  threatened  to  raise  the  question  in  the 
House  and  publish  the  facts  (which  he  did  not  pos- 
sess) in  every  paper  which  he  could  influence.  His 
outburst  scared  an  under-secretary  and  alarmed  a 
permanent  secretary,  but  only  for  an  hour  or  two. 
After  lunch  the  secretaries,  under  and  permanent, 
forgot  there  wafs  such  a  person  as  Sir  Alfred  Hor- 
ton-Birkett. 

Ben  read  the  article  on  Von  Hoist.  It  was  so 
utterly  grotesque  he  could  not  refrain  from  laughing 
outright.  To  think  there  were  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  readers  in  Britain  who  believed  that  kind  of  story, 
was  to  him  a  mockery  of  common  sense.  And  when 
he  thought  of  the  editor  of  the  paper,  that  his  own 
son-in-law  was  the  son  of  a  dear  old  German  Jew 
merchant  of  respect  and  high  standing  in  the  city, 
he  wondered  what  some  creatures  would  not  do  for 
a  living.  But  Britain  was  at  war!  And  there  was 
money  to  be  made  by  giving  the  scared  section  of 
the  public  what  it  desired.  Much  as  Ben  disliked 
the  whole  crew  of  Bernhardis,  Treitschkes,  and  Bis- 
marcks,  he  vowed  they  did  less  real  harm  than  the 
gang  of  British  journalists  who  throve  on  such  stuff 
as  that  about  Von  Hoist.  Ben  had  not  then  heard 
how  the  article  affected  Evelyn.  At  that  time  he 
was  busy  getting  out  his  pamphlet  called  To  Con- 
scientious Objectors-  It  was  an  exposure  of  the 


142  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

methods  of  recruiting,  and  an  analysis  of  the  social 
and  legal  position  of  those  who  conscientiously  ob- 
ject to  taking  part  in  war.  The  pamphlet  went  like 
wildfire  all  over  the  north  of  England  and  Wales. 
Ben  and  his  pamphlet  were  dealt  with  severely  in 
the  newspapers.  He  was  called  pro-German,  traitor, 
lunatic,  scoundrel.  A  great  peer  wrote  to  the  papers 
and  wanted  to  know  if  there  was  a  law  in  the  land, 
if  there  was  a  government  equal  to  dealing  with  such 
people  and  so  on.  Evidently  there  was.  Copies  of 
Ben's  pamphlet  were  taken  away  from  the  publishers 
and  burned.  The  type  was  broken  up.  And  the  work- 
ing men  of  England  and  Wales  were  freed  from  the 
terrible  influence  of  Benjamin  Tonks,  the  pro-Ger- 
man. 

The  stir  made  by  Ben's  pamphlet  affected  Sir  Al- 
fred in  a  peculiar  way.  He  was  in  the  House  when 
Mr.  Panderton  put  his  question  to  the  home  secre- 
tary on  the  "disastrous  effect"  the  pamphlet  had  on 
recruiting  in  certain  areas.  The  attorney-general  re- 
plied and  informed  the  House  that  he  was  giving  the 
matter  his  serious  consideration.  The  member  who 
asked  a  supplementary  question  as  to  what  lengths 
the  Government  desired  to  go  in  suppressing  "free 
speech,"  was  called  a  traitor  and  told  to  "shut  up." 
Sir  Alfred  decided  to  keep  quiet  and  let  justice  take 
its  course.  The  incident  however  upset  him  for  the 
day.  He  had  hoped  he  would  be  able  to  put  in  a 
word  for  his  son-in-law,  just  to  show  Ellen  that  he 
had  some  spirit  left.  There  was  not  a  line  in  the 
pamphlet  he  took  objection  to,  indeed  it  was  just  the 
kind  of  thing  he  would  have  written— or  spoken — 
when  he  was  Ben's  age.  It  was  all  in  line  with  his 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  143 

i 

sentiments  on  the  position  of  non-conformists  of  fifty 
years  ago.  When  he  met  Ellen  at  Horton  House  he 
felt  mean. 

"I  couldn't  get  in,  Ellen,"  he  said.  "The  speaker 
did  not  call  on  me." 

"Did  any  one  protest  in  the  name  of  free  speech  ?" 

"Isleworth  said  something,  but  he  was  told  to  shut 
up." 

"The  emasculated  Commons !"  she  said,  sinking  in- 
to a  chair.  It  stung  her  father;  he  winced  as  if  a 
hornet  had  nipped  him  on  his  fat  neck. 

Ellen  did  not  wait  for  tea.  She  left  him  with  the 
St.  Stephen's  Gazette.  For  some  time  he  sat  turn- 
ing its  pages  over,  too  disgruntled  to  read  the  col- 
umns his  eyes  were  skimming.  When  he  was  quite 
conscious  of  what  he  was  seeing  he  found  himself 
in  the  middle  of  an  article  on  "Recruiting,"  and 
in  it  a  severe  criticism  of  Ben's  pamphlet.  The 
writer  granted  it  was  a  perfectly  correct  statement 
of  the  position  of  conscientious  objectors  to  war, 
but  it  was  not  the  time  to  assist  our  enemies  by 
putting  precise  ethical  and  legal  notions  into  the 
minds  of  men  who  were  required  for  the  trenches. 
In  such  a  war  we  all  had  to  sacrifice  some  princi- 
ples, the  writer  went  on  to  say,  and  no  lover  of  his 
country  would  hesitate  to  sacrifice  his  wealth,  his 
life,  his  all,  at  such  a  crisis.  Britain  was  fighting 
for  liberty,  free  institutions,  against  Prussian  ar- 
rogance and  oppression. 

Sir  Alfred  saw  it  all  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff.  The 
position  was  perfectly  clear.  Ben  was  mistaken.  Of 
course  he  had  no  intention  of  assisting  Prussia,  not 
the  slightest,  but  he  was  bound  to  make  a  sacrifice, 


144  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

and  that  he  had  not  done.  It  was  not  the  time  for 
that  kind  of  a  pamphlet. 

In  the  news  columns  he  read  of  the  awful  methods 
the  Germans  were  adopting  to  break  through  the 
western  lines.  There  had  been  a  dreadful  battle  in 
which  the  enemy  had  used  asphyxiating  shells  with 
deadly  effect.  The  news  was  harrowing.  It  shocked 
Sir  Alfred  so  terribly  that  he  determined  to  see  El- 
len and  ask  her  if  such  an  act  was  to  be  forgiven. 
After  the  years  he  had  devoted  to  the  business  of 
making  warfare  as  humane  as  possible,  after  all  his 
work  in  connection  with  the  Hague  Conferences, 
it  was  nothing  less  than  a  reversion  to  barbarism! 
Frightfulness  was  the  word  for  it.  Asphyxiating 
shells  used  against  a  Christian  country !  It  was  more 
than  a  civilized  people  could  stand.  Only  a  godless 
bureaucracy  could  think  of  doing  such  a  thing.  Well, 
if  Britain  were  to  be  beaten  by  such  methods,  de- 
feat would  be  preferable  to  victory  obtained  by  re- 
sorting to  them.  The  news  of  the  German  use  of  as- 
phyxiating bombs  infused  new  life  into  him,  and  he 
went  about  his  work  after  that  with  fresh  vigor. 

At  the  House  that  evening  he  found  a  note  from 
the  mother  of  Major  Pomeroy-Fanton  saying  her 
son  had  returned  from  the  hospital  in  France  and 
would  like  to  see  him  if  he  could  spare  the  time  to 
run  down  to  the  New  Forest  where  she  had  taken 
a  house  for  the  wounded  man  to  recuperate.  Sir 
Alfred  wired  saying  he  would  go  down  the  next  day. 
He  left  word  to  be  called  early  the  next  morning. 
When  his  man  brought  the  tea  and  the  papers  he  was 
not  refreshed;  he  had  turned  and  tossed  out  of  one 
dream  into  another  the  whole  night.  He  sat  up  and 


A  STRONG  MAN'S-  HOUSE  145 

sipped  the,  tea,  stupidly  blinking  at  the  rays  of  the 
sun  aslant  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

The  train  was  moving  when  he  scrambled  into 
it  at  Waterloo.  It  was  some  time  before  he  settled 
down.  He  remembered  his  motor  had  been  held  up 
by  a  large  body  of  troops  passing  through  Parlia- 
ment Square  to  Victoria  Station.  A  man  who  stood 
near  the  window  of  his  car  during  the  block  spoke 
to  a  young  clergyman.  The  conversation  riveted  Sir 
Alfred's  attention  though  he  kept  his  eye  on  the 
carriage  clock  ticking  away  in  front  of  him. 

"Another  lot  goin'  to  be  massacred,"  the  man 
said,  with  a  nod  at  the  passing  regiment. 

"Oh,  no,"  the  clergyman  returned  sharply.  "Not 
massacred,  certainly  not.  We  shall  soon  pay  the  Huns 
back  in  their  own  coin,  you  see." 

"They're  goin'  to  be  massacred  all  the  same." 

"Still,  they'll  give  a  very  good  account  of  them- 
selves." 

"So   did  my   two   sons — both   dead." 

"Really!  Sorry!" 

"You  oughter  see  our  'ouse.  My  youngest  brother 
both  feet  gone,  and  a  son-in-law  with  only  one 
'and." 

"Very  sad."  The  clergyman  shook  himself.  "Fine 
body  of  men !"  he  exclaimed,  craning  his  neck  to  get 
a  glimpse  of  the  last  lot. 

"Coin*  to  be  massacred." 

While  the  train  sped  on  through  Surbiton  and 
Woking  Sir  Alfred  thought  of  the  man  who  dog- 
gedly held  to  the  belief  that  the  troops  were  "goin' 
to  be  massacred."  Basingstoke  was  passed  before 
he  picked  up  the  paper.  A  long  article  on  "Gas," 


146  A  STRONG  MAN'S  I^OUSE 

written  by  a  well-known  Radical,  caught  his  eye.  It 
was  a  protest  against  the  suggestion  that  Britain 
should  set  to  work  at  once  to  manufacture  asphyxi- 
ating shells.  The  writer  hoped  the  authorities  would 
not  listen  to  any  such  horrible  suggestion.  Sir  Alfred 
heartily  agreed.  It  was  monstrous  to  think  of  such  a 
thing.  We  should  deserve  the  contempt  of  all  neutral 
nations  if  we  stooped  to  the  methods  of  German  fright- 
fulness  ;  of  that  he  was  firmly  convinced.  He  turned 
the  pages  of  the  paper  over  indolently  and  felt  the  re- 
action of  a  bad  night  and  busy  morning  working  upon 
him.  His  eyes  were  heavy.  Suddenly  he  sat  up,  read- 
justed his  glasses,  and  stared  at  the  paper.  He 
dropped  it  slowly,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  In 
the  list  of  casualties  he  had  seen  the  name  of  Cap- 
tain Robert  Horton-Birkett  among  the  wounded.  A 
faintness  came  over  him.  The  train  rushed  on,  the 
country  swam  by  on  both  sides,  giving  him  the  sen- 
sation of  being  thrown  violently  into  the  air.  His 
stomach  rebelled. 

The  short  drive  in  the  car  to  the  major's  house 
revived  him,  though  he  was  weak  and  trembly  when 
he  arrived.  Major  Pomeroy-Fanton  lay  on  a  couch 
on  wheels.  There  he  would  lie  perhaps  for  the  rest 
of  his  life.  His  wounds  were  permanent,  trouble- 
some and  would  require  the  attention  of  a  nurse 
every  day  and  night.  Sir  Alfred  had  seen  him  only 
once  before — in  the  hospital,  but  he  knew  from  Ed 
he  was  a  tall  man  of  fine  physique  and  great  strength. 
What  he  now  saw  was  a  grotesque  parody  of  Ed's 
description  of  him. 

"I  wanted  to  see  you  about  Ed,"  the  major  said, 
in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  Sir  Alfred  as  if  it  came 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  147 

Out  of  a  deep  cavern.  "I  left  France  about  six  weeks 
ago  but  the  journey  nearly  did  for  me.  Now  I'm  a 
bit  better  I  thought  mother  might  drop  you  a  line.  It's 
good  of  you  to  come  down." 

He  spoke  slowly,  almost  a  precise  accent  was  given 
to  each  syllable,  as  if  he  wished  to  make  quite  sure 
of  one  word  before  he  ventured  on  another. 

"I  know  how  Ed  feels,  at  least  I  think  I  do.  It  is 
hard  lines.  Very.  But  what  can  be  done?  Only  one 
order  came  down  to  us  that  day,  and  that  was  coun- 
termanded. Jawton,  however,  still  sticks  to  it  he  sent 
an  order  to  advance  at  five.  Even  if  we  had  re- 
ceived that  order  it  would  have  been  too  late.  Re- 
serve orders  are  mostly  like  that.  It  has  been  so 
from  the  beginning  in  this  affair.  Really  we  were 
badly  cut  up  before  the  men  broke  and  rushed  for- 
ward. Before  I  left  France  I  was  told  none  of  the 
officers  of  the  reserve  received  the  order  Jawton  says 
was  given.  I  want  you  to  tell  that  to  Ed,  but  you  are 
not  to  mention  my  name.  I'm  not  up  to  having  any 
trouble  about  it.  We  all  know  Jawton  is  in  the 
wrong.  When  the  commander  heard  about  Ed 
carrying  me  and  Tudor  out  of  the  mess,  he  acted 
spontaneously  in  recommending  him  for  the  Vic- 
toria Cross.  He  didn't  consult  Jawton,  who  damned 
and  blasted  everybody  for  a  week  when  he  heard 
of  it,  but  took  no  action.  That  was  the  test.  It  is 
only  influence  that  keeps  Jawton  where  he  is.  Ed 
knows  his  crowd.  The  lot  that  would  massacre  armies 
rather  than  change  their  old  methods  of  fighting." 

Sir  Alfred  thought  of  the  man  who  said  the  troops 
were  "goin'  to  be  massacred." 

He  thought  of  Robert. 


148  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"There's  too  much  tittle-tattle  going  on,  too  much 
pushing  and  pulling,  with  a  certain  set.  There's 
enough  jealousy  at  the  front  to  stock  all  the  women's 
clubs  in  the  kingdom.  And  here  at  home  one  section 
is  free  to  damn  good  soldiers  who  are  victims  of  bad 
'uns  while  press  criticism  of  the  War  Office  is 
frowned  upon  as  rank  treason.  If  the  House  of 
Commons  knew  a  tenth  of  what  is  going  on  at  the 
front  the  members  would  go  mad." 

Going  back  to  town  Sir  Alfred  pondered  the  ques- 
tion of  responsibility.  Was  it  right  of  members  to 
hand  over  blindly  the  fate  of  millions  of  men  to  the 
Government?  Was  it  right  to  connive  at  a  policy  of 
downright  deception?  Were  men  sent  out  by  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  to  be  massacred  ?  And  what  of  the 
section  that  was  free  to  damn  good  soldiers  who  were 
the  victims  of  bad  ones?  What  section  was  it?  When 
he  thought  of  how  his  own  family  had  suffered,  and 
was  suffering,  he  broke  into  a  hot  sweat.  But  what 
was  there  to  be  done?  Parliament  was  impotent. 
Sir  Alfred  knew  he  could  do  nothing.  Any  ques- 
tion put  in  the  House  would  be  received  with  sus- 
picion, or  answered  by  a  grieved  minister  in  such 
a  way  as  to  side-track  the  matter.  The  prospect  was 
hopeless.  There  was  no  one  to  speak  for  the  men 
and  their  company  officers.  The  lists  each  day  might 
tell  the  tale  of  scores  of  Britain's  finest  young  men 
slaughtered,  but  there  was  on  one  to  ask  if  the  sacri- 
fice was  necessary.  Martial  rule  in  the  country  and 
martial  rule  in  the  Commons,  subdued  all  serious 
criticism.  The  Government  was  supreme;  the  voice 
of  the  people  was  not  heard. 

There   was    a   telegram    from    Robert   waiting    at 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  149 

Horton  House.  He  had  received  slight  wounds  in 
the  arm  and  neck,  but  nothing  to  cause  anxiety.  Sir 
Alfred  was  relieved.  He  had  thought  of  going  over 
to  France  that  night.  It  would  have  been  inconve- 
nient to  leave  England  at  that  time  for  there  were 
persistent  rumors  about  that  there  would  be  a  change 
of  Government.  The  reports  from  the  front  that 
some  one  had  blundered  in  not  providing  the  requisite 
shells  was  a  matter  of  great  concern  to  Sir  Alfred. 

Shortly  after  the  change  of  Government  Sir  Alfred 
was  called  upon  to  lay  down  new  plants  in  many 
places  and  find  new  .machinery  for  making  shells. 
In  a  few  weeks  a  revolution  took  place  in  the  meth- 
ods of  the  industry.  It  came  about  in  a  strange  way. 
Sir  Alfred  was  almost  at  his  wit's  end,  as  to  how  he 
could  answer  the  demands  of  the  authorities,  when 
he  was  asked  by  his  manager  to  see  an  American  in- 
ventor who  had  been  kicking  his  heels  about  the  War 
Office  and  some  of  the  big  plants  in  the  north,  for 
several  months,  without  making  any  impression. 

"My  machinery  can  give  you  the  same  amount  of 
shells  as  the  French  get  out  of  my  machines,"  Mr. 
McLeod  said,  "and  our  machines  turn  out  most  of 
the  shells  for  the  French  seventy-five  gun." 

"Do  the  War  Office  people  know  that?"  Sir  Alfred 
asked. 

"Oh,  yes.     If  they  have  opened  my  letters  yet." 

"Can  you  supply  me  with  a  large  number  of  ma- 
chines ?" 

"A  very  large  number." 

A  cable  was  sent  off  at  once  to  Mr.  McLeod's 
works.  Then  the  American  told  Sir  Alfred  some  of 


150  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  ' 

his  experiences  in  trying  to  rouse  British  munition- 
makers  to  a  better  understanding  of  the  position.  It 
was  really  a  story  of  the  crass  stupidity  of  men 
wedded  to  antiquated  methods.  Here  Mr.  McLeod 
was  snubbed,  there  he  was  laughed  at,  somewhere 
else  he  was  regarded  with  suspicion.  But  at  the  War 
Office  he  did  not  even  get  the  satisfaction  of  being 
noticed,  let  alone  snubbed. 

"You're  at  least  eight  months  too  late,  Sir  Alfred," 
he  said.  "If  you  had  gone  to  work  on  modern 
methods  when  the  French  did  your  spring  offensive 
would  have  borne  some  practical  results,  and  you 
would  have  saved  tens  of  thousands  of  lives  per- 
haps. Now  I'm  afraid  it's  going  to  be  a  long 
drawn  out  affair.  Well,  it  can't  be  helped  now,  but 
it's  a  thousand  pities  to  see  the  very  flower  of  Bri- 
tain's youth  slaughtered  out  there — and  all  for  the 
want  of  practical  men  at  the  head  of  affairs.  I'm 
an  engineer  and  a  maker  of  shell  machinery,  but  I 
tell  you  I  hate  to  see  the  bonny  lads  going  out  to 
face  German  science  and  German  organization  with- 
out an  equal  chance  when  the  guns  go  off." 

"You're  right,  Mr.  McLeod.    It  is  not  fair." 

"Now  the  thing  is  to  get  it  over  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible." 

The  phrase  stuck  in  Sir  Alfred's  mind.  Get  it 
over  as  quickly  as  possible,  yes,  that  was  the  most 
humane  thing  to  do. 

"If  you  had  known  of  my  machinery  in  the 
middle  of  last  July,  and  had  got  to  work  at  once, 
most  of  your  difficulties  would  have  been  over  by 
now.  Aye,  it's  a  pity.  In  this  department  you're 
all  fifty  years  behind  the  time.  And  yet  you  come  to 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  151 

us  for  machinery  for  boots,  and  cloth,  and  printing, 
and  a  hundred  other  things.  You  never  thought  of 
bringing  your  machinery  of  making  shells  up  to  date. 
Aye— think  of  it." 

"But  such  a  concern  as  mine  could  not  take  the 
initiative,  Mr.  McLeod.  We  supply  the  War  Office 
according  to  its  orders.  They  tell  us  what  they 
want,  and  we  make  it.  If  we  had  got  your  plant  it  is 
quite  possible  the  authorities  would  not  have  even 
tried  one  of  your  shells." 

"Just  so.  Just  so.  But  Sir  Alfred  your  German 
connection " 

Sir  Alfred  winced,  turned  mottled  red,  and  then 
white  to  the  lips.  He  fidgeted  about  with  a  paper 
knife,  and  picked  the  palm  of  his  hand.  Mr.  Mc- 
Leod shrewdly  noticed  the  effect  of  his  remarks,  and 
went  on. 

"Your  German  connection  is  making  a  grand  shell. 
The  other  day  in  France  I  saw  one  which  was  cap- 
tured in  a  trench.  It  hadn't  been  used.  It  was 
perfect.  The  French  artillerists  told  me  they  are 
awful  missiles  to  come  in  a  shower.  They  can 
plow  through  anything.  Well,  I  think  I  can  help  you 
to  turn  out  just  as  good  a  shell.  But  the  thing  is  to 
get  it  over  as  quickly  as  possible." 

For  many  weeks  after  the  interview  with  Mr.  Mc- 
Leod, Sir  Alfred  was  far  too  busy  to  go  down  to 
Crowington.  Having  given  Horton  House  over  to 
the  authorities  for  a  nursing  home,  he  took  a  room 
at  the  club  and  lived  the  gloomy  days  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  depressing  political  respectability. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

DURING  the  weeks  when  Evelyn  lay  sick  at 
Crowington  her  mother  spent  many  lonely 
hours  in  which  she  surveyed  the  past.  Though  Eve- 
lyn's child  brought  some  happy  moments  to  her,  it 
often  enough  reminded  her  of  the  years  when  her 
own  children  were  left  to  the  care  of  nurses  and 
pedagogues,  while  she  devoted  herself  chiefly  to 
social  and  political  affairs.  Ambition  drove  her 
into  "the  swim,"  there  to  find  opportunities  of  ad- 
vancement. Early  in  her  married  life  she  realized 
the  limitations  of  Alfred.  She  knew  he  would  not 
be  of  any  use  to  her  social  aspiration,  that  he  would 
find  all  his  pleasure  in  industrial  achievement,  and 
rely  on  the  Government  to  reward  patient  merit,  and 
large  subscriptions  to  party  funds  when,  and  how 
they  wished.  Besides,  he  was  a  strenuous  dissenter, 
a  leader  of  the  English  movement  against  the  Es- 
tablished Church.  His  simple  origin,  too,  was  not  in 
her  favor.  She  had,  however,  enjoyed  the  struggle 
carrying  such  an  impost  to  victory.  Alfred  had  given 
them  riches,  but  she  had  brought  them  distinction. 

When  she  surveyed  the  wondrous  past  and 
thought  of  the  social,  political  and  financial  gain,  she 
found  the  loss  of  family  love  and  cohesion  outweigh 
all  the  advantages  on  which  she  had  placed  so  much 
store.  It  was  so  strange  to  her  that  the  war  should 
be  the  means  of  revealing  all  the  shortcomings  of  her 
domestic  affairs.  Her  marriage  had  been  a  partner- 

152 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  153 

ship:  Alfred's  money  and  business  ability  united  to 
her  poverty  and  social  standing.  The  partnership  was 
a  success.  But  when  all  the  short-lived  tendernesses 
were  counted  up  had  there  been  love  in  their  married 
life?  Good  as  he  was,  easy-going,  seldom  ill-tem- 
pered— even  for  a  moment — he  was,  after  all,  that 
kind  of  man  who  can  live  without  love  so  long  as 
the  necessary  woman  is  there  when  she  is  required. 
Perhaps,  if  they  had  suffered  reverses  in  the  early 
years,  fine  gold  might  have  been  found  in  Alfred.  Re- 
verses were  not  for  them,  however,  and  success  car- 
ried them  smoothly  along  the  road  of  monoto- 
nous respectability.  She  wondered  if  with  fewer 
children  it  might  have  been  different. 

And  her  sons  and  daughters.  She  had  known  for 
a  long  time  they  had  not  much  love  for  their  father. 
He  was  not  a  lovable  father.  When  they  were  little 
he  seldom  saw  them.  She  could  not  remember  when 
he  visited  the  nursery.  Yet  he  was  the  most  indulgent 
father  she  had  ever  heard  of;  indeed,  he  had  always 
let  their  do  just  as  they  wished.  When  Ed  said  he 
would  like  to  go  into  the  army,  his  father  made  no 
objection,  though  she  knew  he  had  hoped  Ed  would 
go  into  the  business.  When  Harold  chose  the  church 
for  his  career,  his  father  never  said  a  word  against 
it.  (That  was  an  omission  Harold  never  forgave 
him.)  As  for  the  girls,  she  knew  they  did  not  care 
whether  their  father  existed  or  not.  Ellen  looked 
good-humoredly  upon  him  as  a  political  nobody,  a 
religious  hypocrite,  an  industrial  charlatan  and  an 
artistic  noodle.  Evelyn  always  kept  out  of  his  way 
though  he  provided  her  with  every  luxury.  He  loved 
them  both  in  his  dull  expressionless  way.  He  loved 


154  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

them  all,  but  he  was  bereft  of  lovable  means  of  dem- 
onstration. They  saw  only  the  material  generosity 
of  their  father,  which  to  them  was  large  enough  to 
cover  a  multitude  of  parental  deficiencies. 

When  Lady  Horton-Birkett  thought  of  how  the 
children  stood  to  one  another  she  derived  no  satis- 
faction. They  all  despised  Harold,  the  one  she  had 
placed  so  much  faith  in.  Robert  scarcely  knew  them 
since  he  joined  the  army.  He  seldom  came  home. 
Fred  had  been  away  for  the  most  part  of  eight  years 
at  school  and  the  university.  Ed  was  the  only  boy 
who  showed  the  slightest  affection  for  his  parents 
and  his  home.  Ellen  and  Evelyn  did  care  for  Ed; 
there  was  something  strong  about  him. 

So  the  war  in  some  strange  way  threw  a  search- 
light on  the  family  and  brought  out  all  the  gains  and 
losses  of  their  lives.  And  in  those  hours,  when  she, 
alone  in  the  silent  house,  surveyed  the  past  there 
seemed  so  little  gained  for  all  the  expenditure  of  labor 
and  care  that  what  was  left  of  life  seemed  scarcely 
worth  desiring. 

Twelve  miles  to  the  southeast  of  Crowington  stood 
an  old  town  remarkable  for  its  Norman  church  and 
Elizabethan  cottages.  There  were  some  hundred 
Irish  people  in  its  community,  and  tucked  away  in  a 
very  quiet  and  beautiful  lane  there  stood  a  Catholic 
chapel,  built  by  a  rich  landlord  at  the  beginning  of 
the  nineteenth  century.  Lady  Horton-Birkett  had 
been  over  visiting  a  sick  relative  in  that  neighbor- 
hood when  she  met  the  village  priest.  And  he  it 
was  who  persuaded  her  to  view  the  chapel.  There 
she  found  calm.  Often  after  that  first  visit  she 
went  over  to  it  and  got  the  sexton  to  let  her  in,  and 


155 


now  every  Sunday  she  went  heavily  veiled  to  mass. 
At  first  it  was  a  change,  something  during  the  week 
to  look  forward  to,  having  all  the  interest  of  clandes- 
tine pleasure,  with  no  risk  to  her,  and  no  harm  to 
her  family.  No  one  knew  her  in  the  community 
save  the  priest,  and  he  would  keep  her  secret.  When 
summer  came  she  went  farther  afield  and  visited 
some  of  the  well-known  Catholic  communities  in 
North  Wales.  Her  interest  increased.  One  day  after 
a  visit  to  Holywell  she  found  Ellen  at  Crowington. 
Her  daughter  had  come  from  town  to  spend  a  week 
or  two  with  the  Tonkses  in  the  village. 

"Do  you  believe  in  God,  Ellen?"  she  asked,  after 
a  chat  about  Harold. 

"Yes,  of  course,  I  do.  What  a  funny  thing  to 
ask." 

"Do  you?  Really?" 

"Yes,  mater.  Why?" 

"But  you  never  go  to  any  church." 

"No,  certainly  not.  And  what's  that  go  to  do  with 
a  belief  in  God?" 

"Ellen!  Isn't  a  church  the  temple  of  God?" 

"Mater!  What  nonsense!  The  body  is  the  temple 
of  God.  The  soul  is  the  shrine.  The  kingdom  of 
God  is  within  you. '  Nowhere  else.  You  might  as 
well  say  a  house  is  a  home.  Is  it?" 

"It  is  where  a  home  should  be,"  her  mother 
sighed. 

"True.  But  why  did  you  ask  me  if  I  believed  in 
God?"  Ellen  asked  curiously. 

"Well,  dear,  I  have  not  been  happy  lately,  and 
somehow  I  have  got  out  of  the  habit  of  going  to  our 
.church  here." 


156  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"I  don't  wonder.  You've  found  out  God  is  not 
there.  Just  as  years  ago  I  found  out  our  house  was 
not  a  home.  As  we've  all  found  out.  So  you've 
come  to  your  senses  at  last." 

"Don't  be  unkind " 

"I  shan't  be  sentimental,  mater." 

"I  thought  you  were  an  atheist,  Ellen." 

"I  know  you  did.  Father  thinks  so,  too.  An  athe- 
ist! Because  I  don't  go  to  church!  It  is  too  silly.  It 
is  almost  as  stupid  as  saying  some  English  people  are 
traitors  because  they  do  not  support  this  Govern- 
ment. Well,  anyway,  I'm  glad  you  have  got  out  of 
the  habit  of  going  to  church.  Now  you'll  probably 
be  a  happier  woman." 

"Are  you  happy,  Ellen?" 

"Happy?"  Her  eyes  shone  with  gladness.  She 
clasped  her  hands  in  pure  delight.  "I  never  dreamed 
of  such  happiness." 

"I'm  so  glad,  dear.    Kiss  me,  Ellen." 

She  kissed  her  mother  warmly,  and  said:  "I'm 
going  to  be  a  mother." 

How  different!  she  thought.  But  then  Ellen  was 
so  unlike  them  all.  She  seemed  to  have  come  from 
another  stock.  Perhaps  her  father's  mother  was  the 
strain  from  which  Ellen  derived. 

Ed  and  Ellen  had  tea  in  Evelyn's  room.  The  in- 
valid was  improving,  but  she  was  not  strong  enough 
to  get  down-stairs.  The  baby  throve  apace  and  de- 
lighted its  mother  every  day  with  acrobatic  exhibi- 
tions of  linking-  its  fingers  and  toes.  It  rolled  about 
on  the  bed  crooning  and  howling  every  afternoon 
for  an  hour  while  Evelyn  made  the  sound  of  the 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  157 

cricket,  which  made  the  baby  laugh  until  it  hic- 
coughed. She  worried  a  good  deal  about  Wilmslow, 
and  harried  Ed  daily  as  to  the  condition  of  the 
place  and  the  care  of  the  hunters.  The  horses  were 
sent  to  a  farm  on  the  Crowington  estate.  Ed  dare 
not  sell  them.  Evelyn  believed  the  war  would  soon 
come  to  an  end,  and  Herbert  would  come  back.  She 
would  listen  to  no  suggestion  that  would  entail  part- 
ing with  anything  Herbert  left  there. 

"How  long  do  you  think  it  will  last,  Ed?" 

"Don't  know.  Another  year,  maybe.  It  may  de- 
pend on  the  Dardanelles  and  the  Balkans.  Seems 
to  me  from  what  can  be  gathered  from  our  papers, 
the  Russian  line,  and  the  French,  too,  won't  affect 
the  end  very  much.  The  winning  or  losing  of  a 
trench  or  two  here  or  there  can  make  little  difference. 
Peace  might  come  soon  after  Germany  gets  through 
the  Balkans  to  the  Black  Sea.  That's  my  opinion." 

"Ben's  opinion  is  something  like  that,"  Ellen  re- 
marked. 

"How's  Robert  getting  on?"  Evelyn  asked. 

"Quite  all  right.  He's  much  better  and  says  he'll 
be  ready  to  go  back  very  soon,'"  Ed  said. 

"It's  monstrous,  the  way  they're  flinging  wounded 
men  back  again,"  Ellen  put  in.  "Very  few  get  the 
chance  of  making  a  thorough  mental  and  physical 
recovery.  It's  horrible." 

Then  followed  the  usual  silence  after  a  reference 
to  the  slaughter  while  they  examined  their  thoughts. 

"And  dad — what's  he  doing?"  Ed  asked,  after  a 
long  pause. 

"Coining  money.     He's  got  a  lot  of  American  ma- 


158  "A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

chinery  which  turns  out  shells  faster  than  a  ma- 
chine-gun can  make  corpses.  He's  in  high  feather." 

"What's  he  think  of  the  Coalition  Scramble 
Stakes?" 

"Oh,  he's  sick  about  it.  Just  think  of  dad  having 
to  support  a  Cabinet  half  made  up  of  the  other  lot. 
But  he  gets  over  it  by  saying  it  is  his  sacrifice." 

"He  is  a  joke,"  Evelyn  muttered.  "And  Haugh- 
mond  ?  Is  that  attended  to  ?" 

"Yes,  all  ready,"  Ellen  replied.     "You  tell  him." 

"No,  you,  little  'un." 

"Well,  all  right." 

Ellen  looked  at  Ed  for  a  moment  or  two  and  won- 
dered how  he  would  take  it. 

"Sit  down,  Ed,  I've  something  to  tell  you." 

Ed  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  looked  across 
it  at  Ellen. 

"You  know  that  Haughmond  land  in  Dorset  old 
aunty  left  to  mother  ?" 

"Yes.    What's  up?" 

"It's  yours." 

"Mine." 

"Yes.    Evelyn  and  I  have  left  it  to  you." 

He  was  puzzled.     "How  left  it — " 

"Mater  turned  it  over  to  us,  and  we  turned  it  over 
to  you.  Don't  you  see?" 

"But  what  for?" 

"Well,  we  thought  you  might  like  something  of 
your  own  to  fall  back  on.  It's  nearly  two  thousand 
a  year." 

"But  I've  got  my  pay." 

"Stupid,  you  can't  keep  Clarice  on  your  pay." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  159 

"Clarice  has  eighty  thousand  pounds,"  Evelyn  in- 
terjected. 

"Thunder  and  lightning,  I  didn't  know  that,"  Ellen 
exclaimed. 

"Never  mind  that,"  Ed  said.  "Why  have  you 
girls  given  the  Haughmond  place  to  me?" 

They  cast  glances  at  each  other,  stammered 
alternately  a  syllable  and  got  no  further.  Ed  eyed 
them  both  with  an  amused  expression. 

"Out  with  it,"  he  ordered. 

"Well — because — Ed,  it  was — because  we  thought 
you  didn't  want  any  money  coming  from  munitions," 
Ellen  blurted. 

"Yes,  that's  it,  Ed,"  Evelyn  put  in  emphatically. 

He  had  felt  that  was  their  reason  for  doing  it. 

"Aren't  you  glad?"  Evelyn  inquired. 

"Better  take  dad's  hoard  than  your  bit,"  he  mused. 

"Our  bit!     I'm  provided  for,  Ed,"  Evelyn  said. 

"And  Ben  can  earn  all  I  want,"  Ellen  asserted. 

"Look  here,  girls.  Fve  thought  of  all  this  since 
I  came  back,  thought  of  it  no  end,  and  there's  no  way 
out  for  us.  I'm  not  good  at  moralizing,  as  you  know, 
and  preaching's  not  my  line,  but  I've  made  up  my 
mind  to  start  afresh  when  this  war's  over.  I  know 
about  gees,  and  that's  about  all.  So  I'm  going 
to  breed  hunters.  Good,  clean,  brave,  healthy 
horses — " 

"And  Clarice—" 

He  was  struck  dumb  and  stared  hopelessly  at  them 
for  a  while.  His  eyes  told  them  he  was  hurt,  and 
that  his  silence  meant  an  inward  struggle  to  control 
an  emotion  that  pained  him.  They  were  too  moved 


160  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

by  his  eyes  full  of  suffering  to  speak  and  turn  the 
subject. 

"She  mightn't  want  to  begin  afresh,"  he  muttered. 
"It  would  not  be  fair  to  ask  that.  Would  it,  now  ?" 

"But— but,  Ed— listen !"  Ellen  cried.  "Haughmond 
is  yours,  and  you  must  have  it.  That's  settled.  You 
needn't  take  a  penny  of  dad's  money.  Evelyn  and 
J  will  not  want  for  anything.  Remember,  I  kept 
myself  for  years  in  Germany,  and  I  can  always  get 
a  job  as  a  musician.  Now,  you  must  be  sensible. 
Do,  Ed." 

"You'll  want  it,  you  see,"  he  muttered.  "The  war's 
not  over  yet,  and  you  never  can  tell.  It's  awfully 
good  of  you,  but  it  won't  do." 

"How  are  you  going  to  breed  hunters  without 
money?"  Evelyn  asked  sharply,  exasperated  by  his 
refusal. 

"Don't  know  yet.  You  see,  I'm  good  at  nothing 
much,  and  that's  the  only  thing  I  really  know  about. 
I  can't  do  any  more  soldiering." 

He  held  up  his  right  hand,  and  waved  it,  as  if  he 
were  sweeping  that  career  out  of  his  path. 

"Don't,  Ed,"  Evelyn  cried  beseechingly. 

"Anyway,  I've  made  up  my  mind  I'm  going  to 
start  afresh.  Perhaps  I'll  make  a  poor  beginning. 
I  can't  tell  yet.  If  dad  were  ruined  through  it, 
suppose  he  lost  all  his  money  in  the  end,  then  I'd 
have  to  work  for  my  living — " 

"If  he  were  ruined!"  Ellen  murmured.  "I  wish 
for  his  own  sake  that  might  happen.  No  such  luck." 

"In  any  event  I  mean  to  go  on  my  own." 

"But  not  all  of  dad's  money  has  been  made  from 
shells  and  armaments,"  Evelyn  remembered. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  161 

"I  know.  But  that  makes  no  difference,  Cricket. 
In  a  case  like  this  there's  no  choice.  It's  all  or 
nothing." 

"You're  right,  Ed — absolutely,"  Ellen  exclaimed. 

The  chat  in  Evelyn's  room  had  a  great  effect  on  Ed. 
For  several  days  he  wandered  about  the  fields  of 
Crowington  wrestling  in  his  ponderously  slow  man- 
ner with  the  weighty  questions  he  had  to  decide. 
Soldiering  had  done  for  him.  From  the  moment 
he  met  Herbert  face  to  face  in  battle,  and  heard  his 
wild  cry  for  his  love,  for  Cricket,  Ed  cared  no  more 
what  happened  to  him.  It  was  his  desire  to  end  it 
all  that  sent  him  back  into  that  hail  of  bullets  for 
Pomeroy-Fanton  and  Tudor.  Life  at  that  price  was 
not  worth  living.  But  he  lived  through  it.  Unlike 
so  many  young  men,  driven  by  the  methods  of  re- 
cruiting advertisements  and  orators  to  the  front  to 
find  relief  in  "suicide"  from  the  curse  of  blood,  he 
had  fought  gallantly  since  the  beginning.  "Suicide" 
had  not  occurred  to  him.  He  was  a  soldier  by  pro- 
fession. To  be  shot  and  not  shoot  was  never  in  his 
mind.  Indeed  "suicide"  was  not  known  until  long 
after  he  was  back  in  England.  The  quarrel  with 
Jawton  had  made  no  difference;  it  was  the  shock 
of  meeting  Herbert.  It  amazed  Ed  when  he  re- 
membered how  much  he  thought  about  in  that  mo- 
ment. With  incalculable  rapidity  he  suffered  such 
thoughts  as  "I  might  have  killed  him,"  and  "Why 
him?"  and  "Why  any  man?"  Herbert  he  knew  and 
loved.  But  there  was  not  a  German  in  all  that  wild 
battle  he  had  cause  to  hate  or  personal  desire  to  kill. 
The  man  he  struck  down  at  Herbert's  feet  was 


162  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

perhaps    obeying    Herbert's    orders,    perhaps    actu- 
ally defending  Herbert  at  that  moment. 

Ellen  had  worked  wonders  in  Ed  she  knew  not 
of.  While  he  was  lying  in  his  mother's  parlor  his 
sister  brought  to  him  some  Tolstoy  tracts.  He  read 
these  works  in  the  hours  when  he  was  alone,  but 
never  spoke  to  any  one  about  them.  Ellen  thought 
he  had  not  looked  at  them,  as  he  never  mentioned 
them.  One  day  she  brought  War  and  Peace  to 
him  and  told  him  to  read  it.  He  made  no  promise, 
however ;  but  at  night,  and  when  he  was  well  enough 
to  go  about,  he  read  it  with  deep  interest.  This  work, 
too,  he  mentioned  to  no  one.  So  Ellen  in  that  way 
brought  about  a  complete  change  in  Ed's  views  of 
life.  And  all  the  time  in  his  rambles,  and  at  night, 
he  was  eating  his  heart  out  for  Clarice.  He  knew 
the  stories  of  his  cowardice  had  affected  her  in  some 
way.  She  did  not  come  over,  and  she  did  not  send 
messages.  Though  they  lived  only  a  few  miles  apart 
they  did  not  meet,  for  Ed  went  seldom  to  the  village, 
and  now  Evelyn  was  at  Crowington,  he  kept  away 
from  Wilmslow.  The  sense  of  misunderstanding 
possessed  Ed  and  Clarice  more  sharply  that  if  they 
had  quarreled.  And  the  position  of  his  family  made 
him  feel  he  should  spare  Clarice  from  the  ill-will 
of  their  neighbors.  He  and  Evelyn  were  lepers  and 
it  were  better  for  their  friends  isolation  should  be 
complete.  How  dreary  the  time  was  for  him.  How 
much  a  prisoner  he  felt  within  the  bounds  of  the 
estate.  He  became  so  familiar  with  every  field  that 
the  place  seemed  to  shrink  smaller  and  smaller  every 
day.  If  his  hand  were  only  well  enough  to  begin 
riding!  It  was  healing  now,  but  it  had  been  an  ob- 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  163 

stinate  wound,  and  the  three  fingers  left  on  his  hand 
felt  numb,  as  if  they  would  be  of  no  use  to  him.  He 
was,  however,  making  progress  with  left-hand  writ- 
ing, and  he  was  reading  more  than  he  ever  did  before. 

Ben  had  promised  to  spend  Minsterley  Flower 
Show  week  with  Ellen  at  his  father's  house.  She 
wanted  to  go  one  day  to  the  show  in  commemora- 
tion of  their  first  meeting  years  ago.  Evelyn  placed 
her  car  at  their  disposal.  It  was  a  lovely  August  day 
when  they  left  Crowington  to  ride  in  to  Minsterley. 
The  show  was,  however,  shorn  of  much  of  its  popu- 
lar interest  owing  to  abandonment  of  side-shows,  but 
the  flowers  and  fruits  were  every  bit  as  fine  as  in 
the  days  of  peace.  In  the  afternoon  Ellen  and  Ben 
called  on  an  aunt,  the  old  woman  who  met  the 
wounded  Tommy  the  night  Ed  returned  from  the 
French  hospital. 

"It's  good  a  thee  to  come,"  old  Mrs.  Vaughan 
said,  as  she  got  tea  ready  for  her  guests.  "We'm 
not  used  to  gran'  folks,  but  tha's  welcome,  surely. 
Albert  'Enry's  gone  back  to  trenches,  'e  'as,  poor 
lad,  these  five  weeks.  Gone  afore  'e  was  ready  and 
willin',  I'm  thinkin'.  'E's  last  of  all  mine  as  they 
took.  Bill  war  killed  early  on,  Jim  'e  died  in  'orspital, 
John  Griffith  'e  war  blown  ta  atoms  on  'is  ship. 
Three  jead  outer  five.  T'other — Robertson — Vs  con- 
sumptive and  not  able." 

"Where  are  the  girls,  aunt?"  Ben  asked. 

"They'm  married.  Three  'as  childer  in  war.  I 
anna  'card  as  anys  killed  yet.  Praised  be  God  for 
them  mercies.  'E's  seen  fit  to  take  my  three,  'E  'as.  I 
mun  bear  up  if  it  be  Ts  wish." 


164  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Mrs.  Vaughan  shed  few  tears.  She  went  busily 
about  her  work,  and  laid  before  them  tea,  scones, 
hot  muffins,  apple  jelly  and  eggs.  Everything  was 
beautifully  clean.  It  was  an  inviting  meal. 

"Have  you  been  to  Crowington  lately?"  Ellen 
asked. 

"No,  ma'am.  It's  a  bit  of  a  journey  for  me.  I 
anna  bin  there  for  nigh  on  ten  years.  It  war  good 
o'  your  mother — 'er  ladyship — to  come  in  and  see 
Albert  'Enry.  'E  war  fair  set  up  about  it.  'Er's 
good  to  me.  Praise  be  to  God." 

Later  that  evening  when  Ellen  and  Ben  were  riding 
back  to  Crowington,  Ben,  after  a  long  silence  in  which 
he  thought  of  his  aunt,  said: 

"It's  lucky  for  the  men  called  a  Government  that 
the  true  non-conformist  mothers  of  England  really 
believe  it's  God's  will." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  Registration  Act  caused  much  excitement 
at  Crowington  Manor,  and  the  question  of  who 
should  distribute  the  papers  to  the  villagers  raised 
considerable  discussion.  There  were  numbers  of 
nosey  people  in  the  district  who  were  willing  to 
undertake  the  job.  Harold  and  his  friends  welcomed 
the  measure;  but  Ed  and  Ellen  were  opposed  to  the 
act  and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Ben  said 
it  was  the  last  thing  in  Prussian  interference,  and 
that  it  would  bring  the  people  shortly  under  the 
lash  of  the  conscriptionists.  The  discussion  which 
took  place  on  the  Sunday  evening  was  heated  and,  be- 
fore it  came  to  an  end,  some  hard  words  passed. 

"I  think  Harold  wants  to  distribute  the  papers," 
Sir  Alfred  said,  by  way  of  testing  the  feeling  of  the 
meeting. 

"Not  Harold,"  Ed  began. 

"Why  not ?"  his  father  put  in. 

"He's  a  conscriptionist.     It  wouldn't  be  fair." 

"Quite  against  the  spirit  of  the  promise  of  the 
Government  that  the  act  was  not  a  bridge  for  the 
conscriptionists,"  Ellen  remarked. 

"But  Harold  knows  all  the  people.  He  is  vicar," 
Sir  Alfred  said  testily. 

"And  can  bulldoze  some  of  them  to  his  heart's 
desire,"  Evelyn  snorted. 

"Well,  the  schoolmaster "  her  father  suggested. 

"No.     He's    Harold's   tool." 

165 


166  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"But,  Ed,  some  one  must  do  it" 

"Then  you  do  it,  dad." 

"No,  no,"  Lady  Horton-Birkett  cried.  "Dad 
must  not  do  it.  It  would  not  look  nice  going  from 
door  to  door  like  a  rent  collector." 

"But  he  is  one,  mater,"  Ellen  observed. 

"Dad  would  be  fair  about  it,"  Ed  said,  with  a 
tone  of  finality. 

Sir  Alfred  felt  flattered  for  a  moment,  but  all  the 
same  he  did  not  like  the  job.  It  was  undignified. 
Still,  he  had  never  seen  the  majority  of  his  tenants 
to  speak  to,  and  it  might  give  him  an  opportunity 
of  thanking  each  household  for  what  it  had  done 
for  the  empire. 

"Has  any  one  found  out  how  many  men  have  gone 
to  the  front  from  our  village?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  I  have  the  figures,"  Ellen  answered.  She 
took  out  of  her  bag  a  note-book  and  turned  its 
pages.  "Up  to  the  end  of  May:  two  hundred  and 
three  houses:  fifty-two  enlistments,  nine  killed  and 
thirty  wounded.  A  month  ago  there  were  eleven 
totally  disabled  men  at  home.  One  house — the  Mill- 
ingtons — lost  two  boys  under  eighteen,  who  enlisted 
by  giving  wrong  ages,  the  father  is  wounded  and 
totally  disabled.  The  mother  is  in  the  lunatic  asylum 
and  Jennie,  the  eldest  daughter,  not  sixteen  yet,  has 
four  under  fourteen  to  look  after.  Then  there's " 

"Ellen,  Ellen,  for  God's  sake  stop,"  her  mother 
cried,  "I  can't  stand  it."  She  burst  into  tears. 

"It  is  fiendish,  isn't  it?"  she  observed.  "I  thought 
dad  would  like  to  know  before  he  distributed  the 
papers.  Here  are  my  notes."  She  handed  the  book 
to  her  father.  "You  might  care  to  look  them  over. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  167 

You'll  find  there  how  many  women  there  are  over 
sixteen  and  under  sixty-five  for  the  purposes  of  the 
Act." 

"Our  village  has  given  its  share,"  Ed  muttered. 

"How  many  men  gone  from  the  estate  are  killed 
and  wounded?"  Evelyn  inquired. 

"From  the  estate,  four  of  our  men  enlisted;  two 
gardeners,  a  groom  and  a  chauffeur.  A  gardener, 
Evans,  is  wounded,  and  Vance,  the  groom,  died  of 
fever,"  Ed  replied.  "We  have  only  three  men  left 
here  and  they  are  over  fifty — the  boys  are  under 
fifteen." 

"Well,  when  Fred  goes,  there  will  be  only  Harold 
left  to  enlist,"  Evelyn  sighed. 

"A  little  work  in  France  might  make  him  modify 
his  views  on  conscription,"  Ellen  insinuated.  "A 
few  weeks  at  the  front  might  do  him  a  lot  of  good." 

"Must  these  registration  papers  be  distributed, 
dad?"  Ed  asked. 

"Most  certainly.    Why  do  you  ask?" 

"It  seems  to  me  an  insulting  thing  to  do  down 
here.  Surely  the  village  can  do  no  more.  Who  is 
left?  The  women  can't  be  spared;  the  children  and 
the  farms  must  be  looked  after.  I  went  into  the 
matter  pretty  carefully  last  week,  and  I'm  blest  if 
I  can  see  what  good  will  be  done  here  by  delivering 
registration  forms.  If  it  must  be  done — then  you 
should  do  it,  dad.  It's  a  ticklish  business  and  must 
be  done  carefully." 

"You're  quite  right,  Ed — quite  right,"  his  father 
said.  "I  will  do  it  myself." 

Ellen  sat  near  her  mother  and  inwardly  fumed 
.with  anger  at  her  father's  sublime  indifference  to  the 


168  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

woe  that  affected  nearly  every  cottage  in  the  vil- 
lage. She  had  hoped  he  would  express  some  word 
of  sorrow,  that  he  would  show  some  sympathy.  She 
hoped  in  vain.  To  her  he  seemed  to  be  hypnotized 
by  any  order  issued  by  the  Government.  His  ser- 
vility was  complete.  She  did  not  know  he  had  qualms 
as  to  the  dignity  of  the  proceeding.  She  judged 
him  by  his  appearances.  So  smug  and  aloof  he 
seemed  as  he  listened  to  their  arguments,  that  she 
began  to  regard  him  as  a  stranger  wholly  ignorant 
of  the  facts.  Or  was  it  the  cursed  spell  of  "Govern- 
ment" which  subdued  every  bit  of  pity  in  him?  And 
this  man  was  once  a  Radical.  Ellen  wondered  if  it 
were  not  a  myth;  the  story  of  his  youth  and  his 
fight  for  disestablishment  and  religious  liberty.  He 
reminded  her  of  a  Prussian  official  who  read  out  a 
list  of  killed  to  a  group  of  old  men  and  women  in 
a  village  on  the  borders  of  Saxony.  He  went  on 
reading  in  sharp  steely  tones,  never  heeding  the 
grief  of  the  listeners.  Then  when  he  had  spoken 
the  last  name  he  turned  to  a  colleague  and  told  a 
bawdy  story  to  the  accompaniment  of  loud  guffaws. 
Ellen  thought  indifference  could  not  be  more  com- 
plete. 

"If  you  deliver  the  forms  here  I'll  never  speak  to 
you  again,"  she  said,  rising  and  going  to  her  father, 
who  had  lighted  a  cigar  find  was  playing  with  the 
almost  burned  match. 

The  attack  was  so  unexpected  he  dropped  his  ci- 
gar: "What!" 

"I  mean  it.  If  you  stoop  to  such  a  contemptible 
act  as  to  hand  a  registration  form  into  any  cottage 
in  the  village,  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  169 

Her  eyes  sparkled  with  anger.  Her  frail  body 
seemed  to  grow  as  she  stood  before  tfte  huge  bulk 
of  her  father. 

"Ellen — I — I  can't  understand,"  he   stammered. 

"Can't  understand!  Have  you  lost  all  sense  of  re- 
finement? Is  there  no  limit  to  which  you  will  go 
like  an  old  sheep  so  long  as  the  Government  leads 
the  way?" 

Lady  Horton-Birkett  left  the  room. 

"But  the  law  of  the  land " 

"You  know  that  is  not  so.  Law  of  the  land!  And 
since  when  have  you  accepted  laws  the  land  has  had 
no  part  in  making?  You've  destroyed  the  laws  of 
the  land.  Every  law  worth  having  is  gone — abol- 
ished— abandoned." 

"But  only  for  the  duration  of  the  war." 

He  looked  for  all  the  world  like  a  great  big  dunce 
in  a  village  school  blurting  out  wrong  answers  to 
simple  questions  put  by  an  impatient  teacher. 

"Nonsense!  You  would  find  a  pretext  for  any 
enormity  as  long  as  the  Government  committed  it. 
You  think  these  abominable  laws  have  only  to  be  put 
into  force  when  they  are  passed  by  a  gagged  House. 
You  never  think  of  the  pain,  the  sorrow  they  will 
bring.  You  talk  about  fighting  to  save  Christianity 
when  you  ought  to  know  it  doesn't  exist.  You  prate 
about  democracy  when  you  know  the  war  killed 
its  only  chance  to  rise.  You  ask  men  raised  in  pig 
pens,  called  cottages,  to  go  and  be  slaughtered  for 
western  civilization.  And  you  have  the  amazing  im- 
pertinence to  associate  God  with  all  your  hellish  pro- 
ceedings. When  was  God  not  used  as  a  cloak  fot 
national  sins?  You  cram  the  papers  full  of  lies. 


170  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

You  can't  bare  to  tell  the  truth  about  defeat  and 
losses,  and  you  foist  petty  advances  on  humbugged 
people  as  war-ending  victories." 

The  others  were  struck  dumb  by  Ellen's  outburst. 
They  were  too  amazed  to  intercede  or  restrain.  To 
see  little  Ellen  hurling  denunciation  into  her  hu- 
miliated father's  face  was  a  fascinating  sight  and 
riveted  their  attention  as  would  a  dramatically  acted 
scene  on  the  stage.  It  was  so  grippingly  interesting 
they  did  not  realize  their  relations  to  the  actors. 
When  Ellen,  breathless,  stopped  speaking  they  looked 
to  their  father  to  reply,  but  he  turned  away  with  a 
sad  shrug  of  his  big  shoulders  and  sank  into  his  arm- 
chair. Whether  that  action  of  his  was  interpreted 
by  Ellen  as  one  of  contempt  for  her  censure  it  set 
her  almost  in  a  flame. 

"Can  nothing  stir  you  out  of  your  indiff erence  ?" 
she  cried,  stamping  her  foot  and  turning  toward 
him.  "Are  you  so  immersed  in  making  shells  and 
money  that  pity  can't  touch  you?" 

"Some  one  has  to  make  shells,  and  they  can't  be 
made  for  nothing,"  he  retorted  angrily,  stung  at  last 
to  show  temper. 

Ed  suddenly  realized  it  was  not  wise  for  Ellen 
to  work  herself  into  such  a  passion. 

"Come,  Ellen,  be  quiet  now,"  he  said,  taking  her 
arm.  "Evelyn,  come,  take  her  away." 

Evelyn  put  her  arm  around  her  sister,  who  broke 
down  and  sobbed  violently,  and  led  her  from  the 
room.  Ed  shut  the  door,  and  after  a  pause  in  which 
he  glanced  at  his  father's  form,  strolled  back  to  him. 

"I'm  sorry,  dad,"  he  mumbled.  "But  you  brought 
it  on  yourself.'* 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  171 

"I  never  said  a  word — not  one." 

"No,  but  it's  the  way  you  act.  Somehow  you 
don't  understand " 

"Understand  what?" 

"It's  hard  to  explain,  dad.  But  you  seem  to  us 
to  be  ignorant  of  how  others  feel.  You  go  on  mak- 
ing money,  giving  speeches,  attending  meetings, 
preaching  recruiting  sermons,  and  seem  to  forget 
we  are — well,  having  a  pretty  rotten  time  of  it  down 
here.  This  is  the  first  time  you've  been  to  see  us 
for  a  deuce  of  a  time.  Here's  mother  eating  her 
heart  out  about  something,  Evelyn's  chased  out  of 
Wilmslow,  and — well,  things  are  all  wrong.  Up  in 
town  you  don't  get  time  to  think.  Down  here  we 
don't  get  time  to  do  anything  else.  You  plan  up  in 
town,  and  we  see  the  results  of  it  down  here.  I'm 
not  blaming  you,  mind.  You're  in  it,  and  you've  got 
to  stick  it,  I  s'pose." 

"What  can  I  do?" 

"I  know.  That's  the  rotten  part  of  it.  It's  got 
you,  and  you  can't  get  loose.  It's  what  some  people 
call  'the  system.'  That's  what's  all  wrong.  It  was 
'the  system*  which  got  hold  of  you  when  we  were 
little  'uns.  It  took  you  away  from  us  then,  and  we've 
seen  very  little  of  you  since.  In  a  way  it's  like  the 
Government  who  have  thought  so  much  of  the  empire 
that  they've  forgotten  there  is  such  a  place  as  Britain. 
Power  and  glory  overseas,  and  poverty  and  grime 
at  home.  You  know  what  I  mean.  I've  heard  you 
make  electioneering  speeches  in  that  strain  when  the 
other  lot  was  in  office.  It's  like  as  if  you'd 
made  a  machine  you  daren't  leave  for  a  blessed  mo- 
ment." 


172  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"But  I  had  to  think  of  you  all  and  make  money 
to  educate  you  and  to  give  you  some  position." 

"And  now  we  don't  want  it " 

"Want— don't  want  what?" 

He  sat  up,  blew  his  nose  noisily  and  blinked  at 
Ed. 

"The  money." 

Sir  Alfred  thought  for  a  while  but  failed  to  grasp 
what  his  son  meant. 

"You  ought  to  know,  dad.  Perhaps  it's  best  you 
should  know.  It  might  help  you  to  take  things 
easier." 

"Know  what?    What  is  it?"  he  asked  querulously. 

"Well  Evelyn,  Ellen  and  I  will  not  want  any 
money.  You  needn't  take  another  order  so  far  as 
we're  concerned." 

"Why?" 

"Candidly — we  won't  take  it.  We've  made  up  our 
minds.  Maybe  you  don't  know  what  to  make  of  me. 
It's  funny,  I  know.  But  I've  changed,  dad.  All 
my  old  notions  have  been  clean  knocked  out  of  me. 
I'm  going  to  start  afresh,  if  I  have  to  begin  on 
nothing." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  his  father  whined 
plaintively. 

"Well,  the  army  has  no  use  for  this  kind  of  thing," 
Ed  said,  holding  up  what  remained  of  his  right 
hand.  "So  they  can  let  me  out  as  soon  as  they 
like — one  less  to  pay.  Anyway,  whole  or  maimed, 
I  should  get  v out  when  it's  over  even  if  I  went 
through  it.  What  I'll  do  doesn't  much  matter.  I'm 
not  ambitious.  So  you  needn't  worry  about  me, 
dad." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  173 

"Ed,  my  boy,"  his  father  said,  rising  and  taking 
him  by  the  shoulders,  "I  know  you've  had  a  rough 
time  of  it.  They  have  treated  you  shamefully — 
cross  or  no  cross.  But  that  Jawton  business  will 
be  set  right  if  I  have  to " 

"Never  mind  that.  I  don't  think  of  it  now,  so 
put  it  out  of  your  mind.  You  couldn't  set  it  right 
if  you  tried.  The  system  wouldn't  let  you  try.  It's 
discipline.  Jawton  is  a  colonel,  I'm  only  a  cap- 
tain. There  it  is  in  a  nutshell.  But  the  other 
matter  is  the  important  one,  dad." 

"Which  is  that?" 

"Money.  Business." 

"Oh!" 

"Can't  you  give  it  up?" 

"Impossible,  Ed,  I  can't  desert  the  Government 
just  when  they  need  me  most.  Besides,  think  of  the 
enormous  number  of  new  plants  I  am  putting  down 
all  over  the  country.  The  expense  is  fearful." 

"I  see.    You  can't  cut  loose,  can  you?" 

"It's  unthinkable,  my  boy.  Duty  is  a  hard  task- 
master. And  I  have  my  duty  to  perform " 

"Well,  we'll  not  go  into  that,  dad,"  Ed  said 
quickly,  fearing  his  father  would  launch  into  a 
series  of  perorations  on  sacrifice,  duty  and  patriotism. 
"But — but — do  understand,  Evelyn,  Ellen  and  I 
won't  take  any  money — we  shall  not  need  it." 

"Won't  take  any?     You  mean " 

"I  can't  make  it  plainer,  dad.  We  shan't  take  a 
penny  of  what  you've  made." 

"There's  some  reason  I  don't " 

"We   don't   like  the  way  it's  been  made." 

"Armaments." 


174  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Now  you've  got  it,  dad.  Armaments.  That's 
it.  We're  sorry — very.  It's  best  you  should  know 
— it  might  make  it  easier  for  you  to  get  out  when 
you  haven't  got  to  think  of  us." 

The  conscience  of  Sir  Alfred  had  been  so  long 
encased  in  thick  tough  hide  it  was  too  late  to  try 
to  touch  it  For  over  thirty  years  he  had  suppressed 
it,  kept  it  dormant  so  long,  that  it  had  become  a 
hard  shriveled  kernel  in  his  big  shell.  He  had 
used  it  so  little  of  late  years  it  had  lost  its  sense 
of  response. 

"I  never  thought  you  would  be  squeamish,"  he 
murmured. 

"Squeamish!  Why  it  almost  makes  me  sick  to 
think  of  taking  up  an  attitude  that  seems  moral. 
I'm  no  saint.  And  my  conversion  came  a  bit  late. 
Besides,  I've  enjoyed  myself  on  your  money  a  deuce 
of  a  time.  I  can't  explain  clearly,  but  I've  changed 
completely.  In  a  way  it's  a  funk — but  I  began  to 
funk  while  I  lay  thinking  in  the  hospital.  The  thing 
that  knocks  the  stuffing  out  of  me  is  the  fact  that 
we  have  been  living  on  the  money  of  your  shells 
which  are  used  by  most  of  the  combatants.  For  all 
I  know  I  was  wounded  by  your  patents  fired  by 
Germans.  And  Herbert — twice  wounded — might  have 
been  laid  out  by  ammunition  from  our  factories  here. 
That's  horrible.  War's  bad  enough,  God  knows,  but 
this  business  is  really  damnable." 

He  knew  he  could  give  Ed  a  complete  answer  if 
he  wished,  but  he  kept  silent.  It  interested  him  to 
listen  to  his  son,  who  only  a  little  while  ago,  would 
have  blushed  to  attempt  to  put  a  half  dozen  sen- 
tences together  in  one  speech.  Now  to  hear  him 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  175 

thread  so  much  together  in  his  slow  rather  ponder- 
ous way  interested  the  fluent  platform  man.  He 
caught  himself  thinking  what  a  fine  effect  in  time 
of  peace  he  could  make  with  the  same  material,  if 
the  other  side  were  in,  and  he  not  interested  in  mak- 
ing ammunition. 

"Hope  you  don't  feel  hurt,"  Ed  muttered. 

"Hurt.  Oh,  no.  I  look  at  all  these  things  from  a 
different  angle.  I  am  after  the  good  that  is  sure  to 
come  out  of  the  evil.  Only  through  the  pain  and 
woe  of  war  can  Prussian  militarism  be  crushed. 
There  can  never  be  enduring  peace  until  that  is  ac- 
complished. We  dare  not  sheath  the  sword  until 
that  is  done.  Now,  you  must  not  confuse  two  di- 
ametrically opposed  ideas.  Industry  is  one  thing — 
war  is  another.  You  don't  for  a  moment  believe  I 
set  up  the  shell  and  bullet  business  to  bring  about 
war,  do  you?  The  idea's  preposterous!  When  I 
began  that  business  everybody  was  agreed  armies  and 
navies  were  indispensable  forces  for  the  defense  of 
empires — food  supply — merchant-marine  and  all  that 
kind  of  thing.  I  supplied  a  perfectly  legitimate  de- 
mand, one  that  had  the  full  sanction  of  both  po- 
litical parties.  The  business  grew.  International  re- 
lations became  strained,  and  the  great  nations  formed 
themselves  into  two  diplomatic  groups.  Naturally, 
our  friends,  France  and  Russia,  desired  to  have  as 
good  ammunition  as  ours,  and  I  cooperated  with 
them  in  opening  plants — but  solely  for  purposes  of 
defense.  Then  Austria  and  Germany  got  to  know 
about  our  products,  and  they  wanted  to  manufacture 
them.  Well,  I,  never  dreaming  the  two  groups  would 
really  go  to  war,  extended  our  business  to  Germany 


176  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

and  Austria,  believing  they  were  as  keen  as  we  were 
to  keep  the  world's  peace.  But  I  was  taken  in.  De- 
luded, Ed.  They  meant  to  smash  us  all  the  time. 
Peace  was  not  in  their  hearts.  They  had  sold  them- 
selves to  Satan  and  Nietzsche.  Instead  of  the  peace 
principles  of  the  prophets  and  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
they  took  the  godless  guidance  of  Bernhardi  and 
— what's  the  other  fellow's  name?  There  you  have 
it." 

He  wound  up  with  a  flourish  of  his  arms,  and 
extended  his  hands  with  a  final  gesture  of  delivering 
the  whole  truth  to  Ed.  He  was  so  pleased  with  the 
effect  that  he  wished  the  speech  had  been  made  to 
the  Grand  Council  of  Dissenters.  He  knew  it  would 
have  fetched  them  all. 

"Now  to  bed.  I  have  a  busy  day  in  town  ^to-mor- 
row. Good  night,  my  boy." 

With  a  tap  on  Ed's  shoulder,  he  left  him  silent  and 
oppressed.  The  debate  had  wearied  Ed,  so  much 
talking  fatigued  him.  He  felt  like  going  up  to  bed, 
but  he  thought  his  father  had  to  be  answered.  How, 
he  did  not  know.  That  there  was  a  reply,  he  felt 
sure.  He  sat  down  to  think  it  over  and  charged  his 
pipe.  He  was  puffing  away  when  Ellen  came  into 
the  room. 

"Little  'un!  Not  gone  yet?"  he  said. 

"No,  I  waited  until  he  went  to  bed.  I've  been 
with  mother.  She's  pretty  sick,  Ed.  Evelyn's  with 
her  now.  Walk  a  bit  of  the  way  with  me.  It's  a 
beautiful  night." 

They  started  off  to  the  village  in  the  cool  tranquil 
night.  The  stars  hung  low,  and  the  elms  rustled 
gently  in  the  fitful  breeze.  Some  ducks,  high  up, 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  177 

passed  over  toward  Gungford  ponds.  And  Ed 
thought  of  Clarice  and  nights  on  the  white  road, 
driving  back  and  forth.  The  happy  indolent  days 
of  ignorance  of  and  trust  in  the  future. 

"Ben  will  be  sitting  up  for  me,"  Ellen  said. 

"It's  late,  little  'un,  and  you've  got  to  take  care 
of  yourself." 

He  towered  above  her  as  she  took  short  firm  steps 
at  his  side.  It  amused  him  to  see  her  elfish  white 
face  in  the  strange  bluey  light  upturned  to  his  own. 

"What  did  you  make  of  dad?" 

"Nothing.    Absolutely  nothing.    My  fault  I  think." 

"Your  fault?" 

"I  think  so.  You  see  I'm  all  mixed  up  when  I 
argue.  I  can  only  feel  what  is  right  and  wrong. 
I  don't  know  yet  how  to  put  it  into  words.  He  had 
me  squarely  beaten  at  the  end,  but  he  wasn't  right  by 
a  long  shot.  I  was  licked,  but  he  didn't  convince 
me." 

Ellen  liked  that  big  brawny  brother  of  hers.  She 
felt  he  was  full  of  good  stuff. 

"Dad's  an  expert  juggler,  Ed.  He  hasn't  been 
a  party  politician  for  nothing,  nor  a  denominational 
fanatic1  in  his  youth  without  learning  the  art  of 
arguing  away  for  an  opponent's  points.  He  won't 
face  up  to  them.  Not  likely." 

"That  was  it,  was  it?"  Ed  thought.  Then  he  re- 
membered how  skilfully  his  father  evaded  the  real 
issue  between  them  and  buried  it  under  a  heap  of 
pulpit  buncombe.  He  laughed  at  the  way  he  had  been 
done  by  his  father. 

"Pretty  slick,  isn't  he?"  Ed  chuckled,  amused  at 
his  own  simplicity. 


178  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"As  crafty  as  a  weasel." 

"It's  the  life  he  leads,  I  s'pose." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  some  time.  At 
"the  Twins" — two  enormous  oaks — the  road  turned 
sharp  to  the  south,  and  down  the  hill  they  noticed 
one  or  two  lights  in  the  bottom  where  the  village 
lay. 

"Mother's  going  to  become  a  Catholic,"  Ellen 
said. 

"Is  she?"  Ed  muttered,  with  as  little  concern  as 
if  he  had  been  told  she  was  going  to  bed. 

"Yes.  She  told  me  so  to-night.  Dad  doesn't  know 
yet." 

"Will  he  cut  up  rough  about  it?" 

"Sure  to.  He  hates  Romans — worse  than  Huns. 
He'll  be  at  his  best  on  that  when  he  hears.  I  told 
mother  to  do  just  what  she  likes  and  not  worry." 

Ben  was  half-way  up  the  village  street  starting 
out  again  to  meet  his  wife.  They  saw  his  tall  fig- 
ure moving  like  a  black  streak  up  the  middle  of  the 
road. 

"I've  been  down  twice.  Hullo,  Ed.  Will  you  come 
in?" 

"Just  a  moment — for  a  cup  of  hot  milk,"  Ellen 
pleaded. 

The  house  was  quiet,  the  others  were  all  in  bed. 
It  was  their  busy  season,  and  they  retired  unusually 
early. 

"Harry  came  home — about  seven — just  after  you 
went  out,"  Ben  said.  "He  has  thrown  up  his  job 
in  Manchester." 

Ellen  turned  to  Ed  and  said:  "Harry  is  Ben's 
young  brother — an  architect.  You  don't  remember 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  179 

him,  Ed.  He  only  came  here  occasionally  since  he 
went  away  to  study." 

"He's  had  a  pretty,  bad  time  of  it,"  Ben  ex- 
plained. "He  won't  enlist.  Some  weeks  ago  he  be- 
gan to  receive  anonymous  postcards:  'Why  don't 
you  enlist,  you  coward?'  You  know  the  kind  of 
thing.  Usually  sent  by  old  men  or  young  women. 
He's  been  fearfully  pestered,  so  I  gather.  Then  a 
woman  stopped  in  the  street  and  gave  him  a 
white  feather.  To  make  things  worse  it  was  dis- 
covered his  employer's  wife  was  born  in  Germany. 
Then  they  made  things  hum.  His  employer  had  to 
close  the  office  and  shut  up  his  house.  Now,  he  has 
gone  to  live  near  the  sanitorium  in  Scotland  where 
his  half-demented  wife  is  lodged.  Nice,  isn't  it?" 

"Culture,  par  excellence!"  Ellen  exclaimed.  "But 
what  can  you  expect  when  we  are  educationally 
ninth  in  the  list  of  nations?  The  people  are  not  to 
blame  here  any  more  than  they  are  to  blame  on  the 
Continent.  Taste  is  not  an  instinct,  and  refinement 
is  not  to  be  expected  from  wage  slaves.  They  don't 
get  a  decent  chance.  The  ruling  classes  here  are 
every  bit  as  stupid,  as  cruel,  as  they  are  in  Prussia. 
There's  really  nothing  to  choose." 

"Harry  is  a  sensitive  creature,"  Ben  remarked, 
after  a  pause  in  which  Ellen  poured  the  milk  into 
glasses.  "He  is  an  artist  and  fanatically  moral.  War 
hurts  him.  The  thought  of  it  unhinges  him.  He's 
a  peculiar  chap.  Almost  delicate  in  feeling — a  lot 
of  the  woman  in  him.  But  very  brave  morally — in- 
deed, he  is  one  of  the  most  truly  courageous  fellows 
I  know." 

They  sipped  their  milk  and  thought  of  Harry. 


180  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"He'll  crack  up,  I'm  afraid,"  Ben  said.  "He  stood 
it  all  right  until  they  started  to  persecute  Mrs.  Rav- 
ensworth,  his  employer's  wife,  then  he  buckled  up." 

"I'm  glad  he  has  come  home,"  Ellen  said. 

It  was  nearly  one  o'clock  when  Ed  left  Tonks' 
house  in  the  village.  Everything  was  still,  the  fitful 
breeze  had  died  away.  In  the  east,  miles  away  to- 
ward Staffordshire,  open  forges  every  now  and  then 
flashed  their  ruddy  lights  against  the  sky.  As  he 
turned  past  "the  Twins"  he  saw  the  glare  of  a  motor 
approaching  down  the  road.  He  walked  on  toward 
it,  keeping  well  in  near  the  hedge  to  let  it  pass.  It 
must  be  running  slowly,  he  thought,  as  he  advanced. 
Strange  it  did  not  pass  him.  Then  he  realized  it 
must  have  stopped,  something  gone  wrong  with  it. 
When  he  got  up  to  it  he  found  Harold  with  some 
of  his  friends  standing  near  the  car.  One  was 
slightly  intoxicated.  They  had  been  to  a  recruiting 
meeting  in  the  Potteries.  The  chauffeur  was  busy 
changing  a  tire. 

"That  you,  Ed?"  Harold  asked,  peering  over  the 
side  of  the  car. 

"Yes.     It's  only  a  puncture,  isn't  it?" 

"That's  all." 

"Good  night." 

Ed  was  moving  off  again  when  the  intoxicated 
man  exclaimed:  " 'S  that  your  brother,  Vicar? 
Lemme  have  a  look  at  him.  So  that's  the  chap  that 


Whether  Harold  put  his  hand  over  his  friend's 
mouth  or  not  Ed  could  not  tell,  but  he  heard  a  bit 
of  a  struggle  and  some  fierce  whispering  going  on. 

Ed  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  back. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  181 

Harold  and  another  man  stood  between  Ed  and 
the  fuddled  person.  The  lamp  shone  full  upon  them. 
They  watched  Ed  make  straight  for  them.  On  he 
came,  and  went  through  them,  as  they  gave  way  on 
each  side. 

He  grasped  the  gurgling  roysterer,  turned  him 
round  and  looked  him  straight  in  the  face.  He 
blinked  at  the  strong  light.  Ed  had  his  back  to  it, 
and  his  face  looked  like  a  black  patch  to  the  blink- 
ing tippler. 

"Now  finish  what  you  were  going  to  say." 

Ed's  left  hand  held  him  in  a  tightening  grip. 

"Oh,   my   God.     Leggo.     My   arm!" 

It  was  no  use  struggling.  Ed  had  his  fingers  full 
of  the  soft  flesh,  and  he  was  veKed. 

"Christ — you're  hurting." 

"Say  it " 

Harold  came  up:  "Ed,  it's  Victor  Lawley — he's 
only  drunk." 

"He'll  be  sober  in  a  minute." 

Harold's  other  friend  strolled  away  to  watch  the 
chauffeur. 

"Apologize,  Victor,"  the  vicar  shouted  into  Law- 
ley's  face,  clouded  and  wrinkled  with  pain  and  rage. 

"Let  him  think  it  over,"  Ed  murmured.  "I'm  not 
pressed  for  time." 

"He'll  hold  you  there  till  daylight,  you  fool," 
Harold  cried,  exasperated  at  his  friend's  obstinacy. 
"Apologize,  you  ass." 

"I — I  apologize." 

Victor  was  limp  when  Ed  let  him  go. 

They  listened  to  Ed's  feet  crunching  along  the 
highway,  until  they  were  sure  he  was  out  of  earshot. 


• 
182  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Did  he  hurt  you?"  Harold  asked. 

"Blast  him,  yes.  Thought  his  bloody  fingers  were 
going  right  through  my  arm."  Lawley  replied. 

"Serve  you  damn  well  right,  you  silly  ass,"  the 
third  man  muttered.  "You  forgot  he  had  another  fist." 

"Ed's  a  terror  when  he's  roused,"  Harold  re- 
marked. 

The  chauffeur  put  his  tools  away,  brushed  the 
'dust  from  his  knees,  and  soon  they  were  whirling 
off  toward  the  vicarage  which  lay  about  a  mile  be- 
yond the  village. 

Ed  trudged  on.  His  thoughts  were  occupied  with 
the  careers  of  Harold's  friends.  Victor  Lawley  was 
the  son  of  the  archdeacon,  and  now  enjoyed  the 
honor  of  buying  fodder  from  farmers  for  the  Gov- 
ernment. Victor  was  an  only  son — a  gambler,  a 
tippler  and  a  gentleman  of  debt  and  leisure.  The 
other — Ed  knew  him.  He  was  the  Honorable  Wil- 
loughby  Stoke.  His  father  owed  Sir  Alfred  a  lot  of 
money.  Willoughby  was  a  nephew  of  the  bishop.  He 
was  buying  horses  for  the  Government.  But  he  knew 
more  about  horses  than  Lawley  knew  about  fodder. 
His  distinction  in  life  had  been  bankruptcy  and 
women.  Both  were  "good  fellows."  "Jolly  dogs" 
the  county  w,ould  say  of  them.  They  were  first- 
class  recruiting  speakers,  full  of  jest  and  humorous 
stones.  Harold  was  good  to  them,  their  connections 
were  so  influential. 

So,  thought  Ed,  as  he  walked  up  the  drive,  young 
Harry  Tonks  is  hounded  out  of  Manchester  because 
he  has  conscientious  objections,  and  Lawley  and 
Stoke,  both  of  military  age,  buy  fodder  and  horses 
for  the  State. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HARRY  TONKS  had  not  been  long  in  the  village 
before  the  vicar  heard  of  his  visit.  Knowing 
nothing  about  the  reason  why  he  left  Manchester, 
Harold  took  an  early  opportunity  of  sizing  him  up, 
as  they  passed  on  the  road,  and  decided  then  and 
there  Harry  was  physically  fit  to  be  shot.  All  the 
family  of  Tonks  were  nothing  but  mean,  narrow, 
bigoted  dissenters,  so  Harold  thought.  He  disliked 
them  all,  and  particularly  Ben,  who,  by  marrying 
Ellen,  had  let  him  down  badly  before  the  whole 
county.  Lawley,  who  was  staying  at  the  vicarage 
while  he  was  buying  fodder  in  that  area,  was  larking 
with  Mrs.  Harold's  nurse  maid  in  the  garden  when 
the  vicar,  after  seeing  Harry,  walked  up  the  path. 

"Victor,  that  you?"'  Harold  shouted  over  some 
bushes  at  the  fodder  merchant,  who  was  chasing  the 
frightened  nurse  around  a  bed  of  gladiola.  "What 
you  up  to?" 

"Playing  tick  to  amuse  the  baby,"  the  glib  Victor 
answered. 

The  nurse  hastened  to  her  charge  and  wheeled 
it  off  toward  the  house.  Lawley  joined  the  vicar, 
and  dropped  a  sly  wink. 

"Now,  don't,  Victor.  Play  the  game  while  you're 
here,"  Harold  said,  referring  to  Lawley's  sport  with 
the  nurse. 

"Nothing,  my  boy,  to  be  alarmed  about.  Inno- 
cent fun,  I  assure  you." 

183 


184  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Harold  knew  his  guest,  and  how  innocent  his  fun 
had  been  on  a  former  visit  to  the  vicarage. 

"Look  here,"  he  said.  "You  know  Tonks?" 

"Chap  that  married  your   sister?" 

"Yes.  Well,  his  brother  is  here.  Been  here  for  a 
week  or  so.  Skulking ' 

"Not  in  khaki?" 

"No." 

"Anything  wrong  with  him?" 

"Nothing.     He  looks  a  fine  up-standing  chap." 

"Damn  his  cheek.  He'll  have  to  get  into  khaki," 
Lawley  exclaimed.  "You're  vicar  here,  Harold.  Why 
the  devil  didn't  you  ask  him  what  he  jolly  well 
means  ?" 

"Only  saw  him  for  the  first  time  to-day — just  now." 

"Get  after  him  at  once.     It's  your  duty,  Harold." 

Harold  thought  he  might  meet  Harry  in  the  street 
about  the  time  the  London  papers  reached  Growing- 
ton,  so  next  morning  he  strolled  into  the  village  and 
hung  about  talking  to  the  shopkeepers,  on  the  watch 
for  his  prey.  Harry,  who  had  been  for  a  long  walk, 
was  returning  home  when  he  met  the  vicar,  whom  he 
scarcely  knew,  at  the  top  of  the  village. 

"Good  morning,"  Harold  saluted. 

Harry  looked  sharply  at  the  vicar  and  dropped 
him  a  nod.  He  did  not  stop,  but  cast  Harold  a  look 
which  a  rather  preoccupied  man  might  give  to  a 
stranger. 

"Oh— a—"  Harold  blurted  stupidly.  But  Harry 
had  passed,  and  was  striding  down  the  street. 

The  worst  of  it  was,  Tomlinson,  the  draper,  was 
putting  up  the  awning  for  his  shop  window  and 
saw  what  happened.  Harold  turned  crimson.  He 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  185 

burned  with  chagrin  and  vexation.  Tomlinscin  was  a 
deacon  at  Tonks'  Chapel. 

When  Lawley  heard  the  story  from  the  vicar  he 
laughed  merrily.  Secretly  he  was  glad.  He  felt 
some  respect  for  Harry  Tonks  and  was  keen  to  see 
him. 

"Didn't  he  know  you?" 

"Everybody  here  knows  me,"  Harold  exclaimed. 

"But,  Harold,  Harry  Tonks  has  not  seen  you  for 
years — not  since  you've  been  vicar,  I  should  think," 
Mrs.  Harold  remarked. 

"You  don't  understand,"  Harold  snapped. 

"You  forget  the  cloth,"  Lawley  explained  to  her. 
"He  should  have  known  the  vicar  by  the  cut  of  his 
coat." 

"If  I  had  my  way  I'd  teach  these  vulgar  ranters 
some  manners,"  Harold  growled. 

"Have  another  go,  Harold,  but  let  me  be  with 
you  the  next  time,"  Lawley  laughed,  as  he  slapped 
Harold  on  the  back. 

The  next  day  Harry  had  a  visit  from  a  county 
recruiting  officer  who  found  him  most  affable  and 
communicative. 

"There's  been  some  mistake,"  the  officer  said 
apologetically.  "I  was  given  to  understand  that  you 
wanted  to  enlist,  but  didn't  understand  about  the  pay 
and  pensions." 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  enlist,"  Harry  said,  smiling 
blandly  at  the  discomfited  officer.  "Such  an  idea 
never  entered  my  head." 

"And  I've  come  up  all  the  way  from  Minsterley— - 

"I'm  very  sorry  you've  had  your  journey  for 
nothing,"  Harry  said,  opening  the  door.  "It's  too 


186 


bad.  I  hope  no  one  has  been  playing  a  silly  practical 
joke.  All  my  intimate  friends  know  I  am  a  non- 
resister." 

The  man  marched  down  the  path  and  mounted 
his  cycle.  When  he  reached  the  office  at  Minsterley 
he  spoke  his  mind  freely  to  the  officer  in  charge,  and 
wound  up  his  report  with:  "I'm  not  used  to  being 
made  a  fool  of  for  nothing." 

In  Harold's  correspondence  the  next  morning  there 
was  a  letter  from  his  friend,  Colonel  Hinstock,  saying 
the  time  was  too  serious  for  practical  jokes,  that 
one  of  his  men  had  wasted  several  hours  going 
out  to  Crowington  to  see  a  non-resister  who  at  no 
time  ever  dreamed  of  enlisting. 

Harold  spent  a  restless  day.  He  moped  about  the 
vicarage,  ill-tempered  and  quarrelsome,  and  when 
Lawley  returned  in  the  evening,  after  a  day  spent  in 
buying  fodder,  he  was  not  the  better  pleased  for  see- 
ing his  friend  the  worse  for  liquor. 

They  quarreled  that  night  after  dinner,  and  Law- 
ley  left  the  vicarage  the  next  morning,  much  to  the 
relief  of  Mrs.  Harold  and  her  baby's  nurse. 

Who  selected  the  village  of  Crowington  for  a  re- 
cruiting meeting  puzzled  a  lot  of  people  who  read 
the  announcement  posted  about  the  parish.  Who  was 
there  t°  recruit  in  that  place  of  sorrow?  There 
might  be  a  few  men  on  the  outlying  farms  to  be 
spared  after  the  harvest  was  in,  but  scarcely  enough 
to  make  it  worth  while  holding  a  meeting.  Still, 
there  were  the  bills:  At  the  Horton-Birkett  Insti- 
tute, old  General  Pennett  in  the  chair,  the  member 
for  the  division,  Mr.  Jevons  Oldcastle,  and  an  ar- 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  187 

ray  of  county  folk  including  the  vicar.  Crowington 
was  one  of  the  few  villages  where  political  meetings 
were  not  held.  The  seat  had  been  overwhelmingly 
conservative  and  it  was  a  hopeless  task  for  the  other 
side  to  attempt  a  serious  contest.  Hence  the  notion 
some  villagers  bruited  about  that  the  meeting  was 
really  one  to  give  them  an  opportunity  of  seeing  their 
member. 

Ben  said  he  would  come  down  from  town  to  at- 
tend the  meeting.  The  bills  were  posted  on  a  Satur- 
day morning,  and  the  gathering  was  to  take  place 
on  the  next  Monday  week.  Interest  deepened  as  the 
days  passed,  and  great  things  were  expected  from 
the  platform  of  notabilities. 

But  the  delivery  of  the  registration  forms  had  to 
take  place  before  the  meeting  was  held,  and  Sir  Al- 
fred came  from,  town  to  perform  his  promise.  He 
had  informed  the  authorities  that  he  would  under- 
take personally  the  work,  and  asked  for  the  forms 
to  be  sent  direct  to  him.  He  had  passed  a  strenuous 
week  in  town  with  the  War  Office  and  members  of 
the  Cabinet.  The  question  of  high  explosives  per- 
turbed the  minds  of  editors  and  officials.  For  weeks 
the  serious  shortage  of  ammunition  had  been  dis- 
cussed on  platforms,  in  the  columns  of  newspapers 
and  in  Parliament,  where,  oddly  enough,  less  discus- 
sion was  permitted  than  in  the  press.  Sir  Alfred 
found  himself  in  an  extraordinary  dilemma.  He 
was  urged  by  the  Government  to  turn  out-  asphyxi- 
ating shells.  It  was  awkward,  for  the  founder  of  the 
great  ammunition  industry  which  never  deviated  a 
hair's  breadth  from  Hague  rules,  had  only  a  few 
weeks  ago  at  the  meeting  of  the  Grand  Council  of 


188  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Dissenters,  moved  the  resolution  of  condemnation 
against  Germany's  employment  of  gas  shells.  But 
what  could  he  do  when  the  Government  in  such  a 
crisis  asked  him,  nay,  ordered  him,  to  turn  out  the 
very  kind  of  ammunition  he  had  denounced  as  the 
"brutally  inhuman  invention  of  a  fiendish  govern- 
ment"? Earnestly  he  prayed  no  report  of  the  Gov- 
ernment's request  would  get  into  the  papers.  The 
authorities  did,  however,  appreciate  the  delicacy  of  his 
predicament,  and  promised  to  save  him  unnecessary 
pain. 

All  might  have  been  well  but  for  the  action  of 
one  of  his  board  of  directors.  At  the  meeting  hur- 
riedly called  to  consider  the  Government's  appeal  to 
the  firm  to  make  gas  shells,  Mr.  Leverton  protested 
solemnly  against  such  a  course.  He  reminded  the 
board  of  the  esteem  which  the  firm  had  won  all  over 
the  civilized  world  by  conforming  strictly  to  Hague 
rules  of  warfare.  To  adopt  the  methods  of  Ger- 
many, methods  which  had  revolted  the  whole  world, 
would  be  a  sacrifice  of  principle  he,  for  one,  would 
never  tolerate.  The  Government  arsenals  should 
shoulder  responsibilities  of  that  kind,  it  was  most 
unfair  to  lay  them  on  individual  manufacturers. 
There  was  a  limit  to  sacrifice  of  principle,  and  if 
the  board  determined  to  make  gas  shells  for  the 
Government,  he  would  be  obliged  to  place  his  resig- 
nation in  their  hands. 

That  evening  a  London  newspaper  announced  the 
resignation  of  Mr.  Leverton,  owing  to  the  firm's  in- 
tention of  making  asphyxiating  shells.  Provincial 
organs  copied  the  startling  news,  and  into  the  local 
pauer  which  circulated  from  Minsterley,  crept  the 
\ 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  189 

report  of  Mr.  Leverton's  stand  for  principle.  Ellen 
read  it,  Ed  read  it,  and  they  marveled  at  the  change 
wrought  by  war  and  time  on  their  father's  pet 
schemes. 

"France  began  it  last  October,"  Ed  said,  as  he 
threw  the  local  print  aside.  "I  remember  reading  a 
very  full  account  of  the  effect  of  their  shell." 

"I  read  it,  too,"  Ben  acknowledged.  "It  was  in  the 
Daily  Caligraph.  The  description  of  trenches  full 
of  German  dead  covered  with  yellow  dust  was  hor- 
rible." 

"Well,  you  never  know  what  will  happen  in  war," 
Ellen  exclaimed.  "What  horrifies  you  to-day  may 
be  your  only  hope  to-morrow.  The  cant  of  Sunday 
is  the  practise  of  Monday.  For  my  part  somehow 
I  respect  the  real  soldier  who  goes  about  it  without 
twaddle  and  hypocrisy.  I  can  understand  Admiral 
Fisher  when  he  says,  'If  you  rub  it  in  both  at  home 
and  abroad  that  you  are  ready  for  instant  war,  with 
every  unit  of  your  strength  in  the  first  line  and 
waiting  to  be  first  in  and  hit  your  enemy,  and  kick 
him  when  he  is  down,  and  boil  your  prisoners  in  oil 
(if  you  take  any),  and  torture  his  women  and 
children,  then  people  will  keep  clear  of  you !' " 

"Ellen!  That  is  frightful,"  Ed  muttered.  An  ex- 
pression of  disgust  covered  his  face. 

"I  know,  but  it  is  the  real  thing.  I  have  been 
reading  a  book  by  Major  Stewart-Murray,  called 
The  Future  Peace  of  the  Anglo-Saxons, — a  strange 
title  just  now— and  he  says,  The  worst  of  all  er- 
rors in  war  is  a  mistaken  spirit  of  benevolence.' 
Pon't  you  really  agree,  Ed?  Don't  you  see  the  utter 
folly  of  the  soldiers  actions  in  war  being  directed 


190 


by  pacifists  at  home?  Major  Stewart-Murray  says: 
'He  who  uses  his  force  unsparingly  without  refer- 
ence to  the  quantity  of  bloodshed,  must  obtain  a  su- 
periority if  his  adversary  does  not  act  likewise!' 
That  is  obvious.  Consider  our  methods  in  South 
Africa.  If  there  is  one  thing  more  than  another 
that  I  can't  stand  in  dad's  gospel  of  cant  it  is 
his  perfectly  damnable  delusion  about  Christian  meth- 
ods of  warfare.  Poor  old  man,  may  the  'gas'  pill 
he  has  to  swallow  purge  him  of  all  slobber  and 
slop." 

It  was  a  glorious  night  when  Sir  Alfred  started 
out  to  deliver  the  registration  forms.  His  secretary 
had  prepared  the  envelopes,  addressed  them  and  ar- 
ranged them  in  order,  so  that  his  employer  might 
do  all  the  cottages  on  his  left  hand.  The  preparatory 
work  was  neatly  done.  Not  for  many  months  had 
Sir  Alfred  thought  of  taking  so  long  a  walk  —  quite 
five  miles.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  knock  at  each 
door  and  hand  the  papers  in  with  a  word  or  two  of 
explanation.  But  before  he  finished  all  the  cottages 
on  his  outward  journey  he  was  hot  and  somewhat  dis- 
tressed. Going  down  the  hill  in  the  village  he  began 
to  ponder  the  real  need  of  his  mission.  It  seemed  to 
him  unnecessary,  tiresome,  trivial.  Why  should  he 
waste  so  much  time?  Anyway,  there  was  no  one  in 
Crowington  the  Government  would  use.  Ed  was  right. 
It  did  seem  a  gratuitous  insult.  He  had  knocked  on 
so  many  doors,  and  had  spoken  the  silly  sounding 
words  :  "You  are  to  fill  in  these  forms  and  sign  them," 
without  any  more  response  than,  "Thank  you,  Sir 
Alfred,"  that  he  ached  for  want  of  some  opposition. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  191 

All  zest  in  the  work  was  gone  before  he  turned  at 
the  far  end  of  the  village  to  start  the  homeward 
journey.  At  some  doors  he  pushed  the  envelope  in 
without  explanation,  and  in  his  haste  to  get  the  task 
done  he  dropped  the  bundle  in  attempting  to  close  a 
door  opened  by  a  child  of  five  years.  The  envelopes 
fluttered  about  the  pavement,  and,  as  he  gathered 
them  up,  Sir  Alfred  passed  some  terse  remarks  about 
the  president  of  the  Local  Government  Board  who 
came  into  his  mind  just  then  as  the  instigator  of  his 
fruitless  errand. 

He  knocked  on  Tonks'  door  and  passed  an  envel- 
ope to  Lizzie,  Ben's  sister.  It  was  addressed  to  Babbi- 
combe,  the  grocer.  Lizzie  called  after  Sir  Alfred 
whom  she  had  not  recognized,  "Here,  this  is  not 
for  us."  Back  he  trudged  to  the  woman  standing  at 
the  door. 

"This  is  for  Babbicombe,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  is  it?  Thank  you.  Sorry.  They've  got 
mixed  up.  The  light  is  not  good,  is  it?"  he  mut- 
tered, fumbling  the  disordered  packet. 

"Come  inside,"  she  said,  holding  the  door  open. 

"Thanks.  Just  to  see  and  put  them  in  order," 
he  said,  passing  into  the  house. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Sir  Alfred,"  Lizzie  exclaimed,  when 
she  saw  him  in  the  lighted  room. 

Old  Thomas  Tonks  sat  in  his  chair  near  the  fire- 
place, and  at  the  table  eating  supper  sat  Ellen,  Ben, 
Harry  and  Ed.  They  all  rose  the  moment  Lizzie 
said,  "Oh,  it's  you,  Sir  Alfred."  He  stared  at  the 
group  and  turned  red;  his  coloring  deepening  every 
second.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  set  foot 
in  Tonks'  house.  Had  he  guessed  whose  house  it 


192  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 


was  he  would  have  seen  the  registration  forms  in  hell 
before  he  accepted  Lizzie's  invitation  to  step  inside. 

"Dad!"  Ellen  blurted.  She  could  not  suppress  a 
smile,  her  sense  of  humor  was  too  much  for  her  just 
then. 

"Sir  Alfred,  welcome,"  Ben  said,  placing  a  chair 
against  the  back  of  his  father-in-law's  knees. 

Lizzie  had  shut  the  door,  and  had  taken  his  hat 
and  stick.  Ed  pressed  him  down  on  the  chair.  His 
father's  heavy  chin  drooped  low,  and  his  big  round 
shoulders  seemed  to  heave  into  a  greater  curve  as  he 
searched  the  envelopes  on  his  lap  for  the  one  ad- 
dressed to  Tonks. 

"Hope  I'm  not  intruding?"  he  ventured,  in  an 
apologetic  tone.  "I  dropped  the  bundle,  and  the  en- 
velopes are  disarranged." 

"Oh!  I  see!  You're  delivering  the  registration 
forms,"  Ellen  cried. 

"Yes,  but  I'm  afraid  I've  lost  the  one  for  this 
house.  I  can't  find  it " 

"Don't  trouble,  Sir  Alfred,"  old  Tonks  said  in  a 
tense  tone.  "If  you  did  find  it  it  would  be  of  no 
service."  He  glared  at  his  visitor,  and  his  shaky 
voice  rose  in  volume.  "No  one  here  would  sign  away 
his  liberty " 

"Liberty!  But  Mr.  Tonks— the  law!" 

"Freedom  is  the  only  law  I  recognize.  I  am  no 
traitor  to  my  fellows.  Shall  I  forget  the  past?  Shall 
I  make  myself  the  slave  of  passions  which  are 
cruel  and  merciless?  Never,  Sir  Alfred,  never." 

"Granddad,  don't  forget  Sir  Alfred  is  our  guest," 
Ben  interposed  quietly. 

"I  speak  to  him  as  one  dissenter  to  another,"  the 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  193 

old  man  cried.  "He  is  no  guest  of  mine.  For  nearly 
thirty  years  he  has  lived  here  and  this  is  the  first 
time  I  have  spoken  to  him.  He  is  the  president  of 
our  grand  council  and  I  will  speak  to  him  under 
my  own  roof  as  I  would  speak  to  him  in  council." 
He  turned  his  glance  on  Sir  Alfred,  who  tapped  his 
toes  impatiently  on  the  stone  floor.  Then  under  the 
scornful  eyes  of  old  Tonks  he  quailed  like  a  boy  in 
dread  of  a  certain  whipping.  The  old  ranter  seemed 
to  hover  over  him  like  an  avenging  angel  ready  to 
launch  the  full  record  of  the  sinner  on  the  world  be- 
fore giving  chastisement. 

"You  have  avoided  me,"  Tonks  cried  in  a  voice 
of  thunder.  "You  have  shunned  me." 

Sir  Alfred  knew  it  was  true.  He  had  avoided 
meeting  Tonks.  The  truth  burned  in  like  a  hot  coal. 

"I — I — I — I  have  been — so  busy — "  Sir  Alfred  began. 

The  old  man  cut  his  explanation  off  with:  "Busy 
as  Satan  from  all  accounts  and  at  his  worst  work, 
too.  I  know  your  work.  And  you  the  president  of 
dissenters !" 

"What  have  I  done,  Mr.  Tonks?" 

"Done!  You  have  poured  contempt  upon  us  here. 
This  chapel  has  never  seen  your  shadow  on  its 
threshold.  For  years  I  counted  the  Sabbaths  you 
spent  at  Crowington,  hoping,  praying,  you  would  have 
the  pluck  to  snap  your  fingers  at  the  county  and 
worship  God  in  your  father's  way.  But  no.  No, 
your  social  position  here  was  more  important  than 
your  duty  to  your  chapel.  If  you  had  left  us,  shunned 
us  openly,  scorned  worship  with  us,  cursed  us,  we 
would  not  have  felt  it  so  sorely  as  your  silent  con- 
tempt." 


194  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE. 

"I  am  exceedingly  grieved  to  hear  you  say  that," 
Sir  Alfred  muttered.  "Exceed-ing-ly.  Such  thoughts 
never  entered  my  mind.  I  came  here  for  rest  and 
quietude.  My  life  in  town  and  in  Parliament  has 
been  so  strenuous  I  have  scarcely  had  rest  enough 
during  the  week  to  keep  me  up.  I  regret — I  deep-ly 
regret  to  know  that  my  conduct  has  been  misunder- 
stood." 

Harry  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  fireplace,  balancing 
a  poker  on  the  high  fender.  He  knew  his  grand- 
father's mind  on  the  position  for  he  had  been  the 
recipient  of  his  confidence  in  regular  weekly  letters 
over  a  period  of  seven  or  eight  years. 

"A  man  can  please  himself,  grandad,"  Harry 
muttered,  without  looking  up.  "He  is  not  obliged 
to  attend  chapel." 

"That  is  perfectly  true,"  old  Tonks  replied,  "but 
when  a  man  is  leader  of  a  cause  he  has  to  think  of 
the  effect  of  his  actions  on  his  followers.  Leaders 
are  not  free,  bad  leaders  are  free  to  please  themselves 
only.  A  real  leader  must  sacrifice  himself;  the  price 
of  his  leadership  is  the  loss  of  his  own  individual 
freedom." 

Sir  Alfred  listened  to  the  old  ranter  and  marveled 
at  his  power.  Once  again  he  felt  the  keen  interest 
in  the  struggle  upward  of  the  true  peasant  breaking 
away  from  the  shackles  of  ignorance  and  ecclesiastical 
slavery.  How  firm  the  old  man  was  in  his  notions 
of  conduct.  Long  years  of  deep  study  of  the  Eng- 
lish Bible  had  given  him  clear  speech  and  fearless 
expression. 

"Is  there  such  a  thing  as  leadership  in  non-con- 
formity?" Ben  asked.  "I  mean  is  there  any  one  who 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  195 

really  leads  the  mass  to  a  goal,  and  is  there  a  mass 
who  follows  to  a  goal?" 

"No,  not  now,  Ben,"  the  old  man  shook  his  head 
sadly.  "Our  men  ceased  to  lead  when  through  party 
policies  they  mingled  with  our  foes.  When  riches 
came  to  them,  and  gave  them  social  advancement, 
they  forgot  the  past  and  lost  interest  in  half-won 
fights.  Religious  freedom  is  no  more  a  cry  to  rouse 
the  peasant  dissenter,  and  the  tyranny  of  the  church 
is  fast  regaining  its  hold." 

"I  don't  think  so,  Mr.  Tonks,"  Sir  Alfred  returned 
suavely.  "The  church  is  in  a  sad  state.  It  has  taken 
a  very  worldly  part  in  this  crisis.  It  seems  to  me  the 
future  is  ours.  True,  the  Brotherhood  movement 
has  taken  great  masses  of  young  men  away  from  the 
strict  life  of  the  chapel,  but  they  are  with  us  still 
in  spirit.  Now,  the  church  is  finding  its  pews  grow- 
ing emptier  and  emptier  every  year.  Soon  it  will 
be  a  mere  shell — a  m-e-r-e  shell.  The  fight  in  the 
House — there  is  none  in  the  country — against  the 
Welsh  Disestablishment  Bill  is  to  my  mind  an  indi- 
cation of  the  weakness  of  the  church.  The  bitter- 
ness, rancor  and  acrimony  it  rouses  in  many  great 
Anglicans,  convinces  me  they  know  they  are  support- 
ing a  dying  cause.  The  loss  of  temper  and  judgment 
means  a  great  deal — in  my  opinion — and  they  know 
their  sway  is  at  an  end.  Now — " 

"That  may  be,  but — "  old  Thomas  broke  in. 

"Allow  me,  Mr.  Tonks.  Al-low — me.  Now,  I 
heartily  agree  with  you  about  the  change  in  certain 
non-conformists.  Wealth  has  been  the  undoing  of  so 
many.  The  ease  it  brings,  the  desire  to  fall  back 
and  just  enjoy  the  luxury  and  pleasure  of  existence, 


196  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

is  highly  detrimental.  No  one  knows  that  more  than 
I.  But  it  is  a  passing  phase.  This  awful  war  will 
bring  us  out  of  it  all  a  purged  and  finer  people.  Out 
of  this  terrible  evil  great  golden  good  will  come, 
and—" 

"No,  no  good  out  of  evil.  The  devil's  text,  Sir 
Alfred.  Why  good  out  of  evil?  Can  there  not  be 
good  without  evil?  No  good  can  possibly  come  from 
war—" 

"Mr.  Tonks — really!  Did  not  Jesus  say  I  come 
not  to  bring  peace,  but  a  sword — " 

"Never!  Not  in  that  sense!  Horrible  notion!" 
the  old  man  roared. 

"Then  in  what  sense,  pray?"  Sir  Alfred  ventured 
meekly. 

"That  His  gospel  as  expressed  in  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  would  be  fought  by  upholders  of  tyranny, 
oppression,  and  evil,  with  the  sword.  There  is  no 
other  meaning.  Jesus  was  prophetic.  He  saw  quite 
clearly  that  the  poor  in  preaching  His  doctrine  of 
justice  would  be  put  to  the  sword  by  the  rich.  And 
has  that  not  been  the  history  of  the  world — before 
His  time  and  after — that  when  peaceful  men  ask 
for  justice  in  the  name  of  God,  Caesar  puts  them  to 
the  sword?  You  talk  of  this  war  purging  us.  Does 
it  look  like  it?  When  was  there  so  much  wickedness 
in  all  the  world  as  now?  Look  at  the  newspapers 
day  after  day.  Think  of  the  debasing  appeals  for 
men,  aye,  posted  on  the  walls  of  this  almost  manless 
village.  The  war  purge  us  of  evil?  What  happened 
to  your  own  daughter  Evelyn?  She  was  persecuted 
by  her  own  countrymen.  Look  at  your  son,  Harold. 
A  vicar  parading  the  countryside  in  search  of  men 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  197 

to  be  massacred.  And  Ben— for  stating  the  case  for 
conscientious  objectors,  hounded  in  the  press,  de- 
nounced from  pulpit,  and  the  victim  of  the  anony- 
mous postcard  writer.  Now,  Harry,  driven  from  his 
work  because  he  will  not  enlist.  He,  too,  slandered 
on  postcards,  and  here,  in  this  village,  harried  by 
recruiting  officers  from  Minsterley.  And  now  you 
come  with  your  registration  forms — come  here — to 
this  house !  Will  the  war  purge  you  ?" 

"Granddad!  Come,  come!"  Ben  exclaimed,  going 
to  the  old  man  and  trying  to  soothe  him. 

"I  don't  mind,  Ben,"  Sir  Alfred  protested,  with  a 
smile  of  great  tolerance.  "Your  grandfather  is  of  a 
school,  I  am  very  sorry  to  say,  lost  to  this  genera- 
tion. I  deserve  all  he  says.  But,  of  course,  I  am 
of  another  time.  Perhaps  I  am  as  much  a  product  of 
these  days  as  your  grandfather  is  of  the  days  of 
Cobden  and  Bright." 

"Isn't  grandfather  rather  a  product  of  a  much 
earlier  time?"  Harry  asked,  still  balancing  the  poker. 
"He  seems  to  me  to  be  thinking  in  old  religious 
terms,  not  political  terms." 

"I  think  so,"  Ellen  said,  "but  dad  is  in  a  strange 
atmosphere.  He  does  not  know  your  methods  of 
debate.  You  must  admit,  Harry,  we  are  peculiar 
folk  in  this  house.  This  is  not  called  Liberty  Hall 
for  nothing.  I  was  amazed  when  I  came  here  at 
the  freedom  of  expression.  You  get  to  realities,  if 
I  may  say  so.  Dad  is  a  parliamentarian — he  is 
steeped  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  Commons  where 
realities  are  seldom  faced.  Dad  speaks  the  argot  of 
the  lobby  and  the  party  platform.  Loyalty  to  party 
and  the  party  leaders  is  his  fetish.  Grandfather 


198  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

knows  nothing  of  that.  Would  you  say,  Ben,  grand- 
father owes  loyalty  to  God?" 

"Yes  and  no,  but  aren't  we  getting  dangerously 
Pharisaical  ?" 

"A  bit  priggish?"  Ellen  suggested.     "Maybe." 

"I  don't  agree,  Ellen,"  her  father  demurred.  "You 
were  on  safe  ground  in  your  distinction.  And  now 
I  think  of  it,  Mr.  Tonks'  interpretation  of  Christ's 
statement,  'I  came  not  to  bring  peace,  but  a  sword,' 
is  very  clever." 

"Send,  not  bring.  Send  is  the  word.  And  why 
Christ?  Why  not  Jesus?"  Harry  asked. 

"Well,  Jesus — if  you  prefer  it,"  Sir  Alfred  snapped 
testily.  "But  I  feel  sure  I'm  on  safe  ground  when 
I  say  He  had  to  resort  to  violence — corporal  punish- 
ment— on  occasion." 

"When?"  Ellen  inquired. 

"In  the  temple,"  her  father  replied,  with  a  superior 
smile.  "Are  we  not  told  that  He  made  a  scourge — a 
scourge,  mind  you! — of  small  cords  and  drove  the 
money-changers  out  of  the  temple?" 

"John  says  so — but  only  John,"  Harry  said. 
"Matthew  and  Mark  give  a  very  different  account. 
Luke  supports  their  testimony  in  chapter  nineteen, 
verse  forty-five." 

Sir  Alfred's  mouth  opened  wide  in  astonishment. 
Harry  was  bent  over  the  fender,  his  back  to  Sir 
Alfred.  He  spoke  calmly,  easily,  as  if  the  subject 
were  familiar — an  oft-debated  one. 

"If  you  will  turn  to  Matthew  twenty-first,  the 
twelfth  verse,  you  will  find  nothing  there  about  a 
scourge.  Jesus  simply  cast  the  money-changers  out 
and  overturned  their  tables.  In  Mark  eleventh,  verse 


199 


fifteen,  you  will  find  complete  corroboration  of 
Matthew's  account  of  the  incident.  Nothing  about  a 
scourge.  He  simply  turned  a  gang  of  thieves  out 
of  the  temple.  That  was  all.  He  did  them  no  bodily 
harm.  Only  John,  writing  long  years  after  the  event, 
mentions  a  scourge.  Well,  I  prefer  the  evidence  of 
Matthew  and  Mark,  and  they  do  not  tell  of  anything 
which  violates  the  theory  of  non-resistance." 

Sir  Alfred's  pride  was  hurt.  He,  the  President  of 
the  Grand  Council  of  Dissenters,  to  be  set  right  on 
Scripture,  and  before  old  Tonks,  was  humiliating. 

"Then  I  prefer  St.  John,"  he  exclaimed. 

"As  you  wish,"  Harry  smiled.  "He  was  certainly 
the  theologian." 

"Anyway,  he  fully  appreciated  how  sinful  it  was 
to  turn  the  temple  into  a  den  of  thieves,  and  that 
they  thoroughly  deserved  the  scourge,"  Sir  Alfred 
said,  his  voice  becoming  hoarse  from  anger.  "Whip- 
ping is  too  light  a  punishment  for  some  evil-doers. 
But  I  am  not  prepared  to  carry  this  argument  fur- 
ther. Suffice  it  to  say,  the  work  of  the  world  must  be 
done." 

"There,  dad,"  Ed  exclaimed  suddenly,  as  if  he 
had  been  looking  long  for  some  point  to  lay  hold  of, 
"that's  the  very  thing.  That's  what  Ellen  means. 
Those  meaningless  phrases  which  pass  muster  in 
party  politics  and  will  not  stand  analysis.  'The  work 
of  the  world  must  be  done.'  Now  what  on  earth 
does  that  mean?" 

His  father  was  perplexed  for  a  moment.  He  had 
never  been  asked  point-blank  to  tell  the  meaning  of 
a  well-worn  phrase.  It  seemed  to  him  meticulous 
criticism  to  nail  him  down  to  a  definition  of  it. 


200  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Mean.  What — wha — wha — does  it  mean?"  he 
stammered. 

"Yes.  What  is  the  work  of  the  world?" 

"Why — a — um — civilization — " 

"You  mean  the  work  of  civilization  as  it  is  prac- 
tised to-day  must  be  done?  You  will  admit,  dad, 
there  is  Tory  civilization  and  Radical  civilization. 
Which  is  it  that  should  be  done?  You  have  always 
strongly  objected  to  the  former — " 

Ellen  paused  and  a  strange  smile  hovered  about  her 
mouth. 

"Years  ago  before  we  took  Crowington,"  Ed  put  in. 

"Yes,  when  we  were  young.  You  know,  dad, 
you  have  not  been  much  of  a  Radical  since  you 
became  a  landed  proprietor.  Still  great  changes 
have  taken  place  in  both  parties.  The  Tory  party 
has  become  quite  socialistic  in  its  endeavor  to  catch 
votes;  and  the  Liberal  party  of  late  years  has  done 
its  best  to  copy  all  the  bureaucratic  legislation  of 
Germany.  Old  age  pensions,  insurance,  town  plan- 
ning, and  all  that  patriarchal  method  of  poulticing 
social  ulcers  has  been  cribbed  from  Prussia.  So 
doing  the  work  of  the  world,  or  civilization,  if  you 
prefer  it,  in  the  legislative  sense,  won't  do,  will  it?" 

Her  father  looked  at  her  queerly  through  his  half- 
closed  lids.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his  children  were 
bent  on  showing  him  up  before  the  Tonkses.  Or 
did  they  forget  while  they  were  discussing  the  ques- 
tions that  he  was  their  father?  The  thought  came 
into  his  mind  and  made  him  feel  desolate,  forgotten. 

"Well,  I  have  always  tried  to  do  the  work  of  civil- 
ization," he  said  sadly.  "We  can  only  do  the  best 
that  is  in  us." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  201 

"And  what  is  the  work  of  civilization?"  Harry 
inquired. 

"The  work  of  civilization?"  Sir  Alfred  repeated 
in  a  surprised  tone.  "Oh,  the  work  of  progress." 

"Industry  ?— Social    affairs  ?— Government—  ?" 

"Yes — certainly.  The  great  work  of  administering 
a  country's  laws,  and — " 

"Is  that  worth  doing?"  Ben  asked. 

"Ben,  I  am  amazed  at—"  Sir  Alfred  said  regret- 
fully. 

"But,  'dad,  you  have  spent  half  of  your  political 
life  in  trying  to  annul  many  of  the  country's  laws," 
Ellen  reminded  him. 

"Of  course,  and  that  was  doing  the  work  of  the 
world,"  her  father  exclaimed  triumphantly. 

"Would  you  agree  it  is  the  work  of  the  world  that 
nine  nations  are  doing  in  killing  millions?"  Harry 
asked. 

"No,  of  course  not.  That  is  a  return  to  barbarism. 
I  do  not  mean  the  work  of  war — " 

"But  that  is  what  concerns  you  morning,  noon  and 
night,"  Ed  observed. 

"Well,  we  can  not  leave  our  men  to  be  slaughtered. 
We  must  send  them  support.  We  must  give  them 
weapons  and  munitions  to  defend  themselves.  We 
must  be  patriotic." 

"And  give  them  asphyxiating  shells?"  Ed  inquired. 

"Mr.  Leverton  would  not,"  Ellen  put  in. 

"Mr.  Leverton,  Mr.  Lev-er-ton,"  her  father  re- 
peated, with  fine  scorn.  "He  has  only  left  the  board 
of  the  company.  He  has  not  sold  his  shares." 

"Still,  he  did  protest  against  your  making  gas 
shells,"  Ellen  remarked. 


202  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"And  if  he  did!  What  of  it?  The  Government 
must  be  obeyed.  They  order  us  to  make  the  shells, 
and  we  dare  not  disobey." 

"Dare  not?"  thundered  old  Tonks.    "Dare  not?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Tonks,  dare  not,"  Sir  Alfred  shouted, 
losing  his  suavity,  nettled  by  the  heckling.  "And 
you  would  not  dare  to  brave  public  opinion*  This 
is  not  a  business  of  braving  a  lot  of  grooms  and 
laborers  as  in  the  old  days,  when  they  threatened  to 
throw  you  in  the  horsepond,  if  you  preached  against 
the  wishes  of  the  squires  and  parsons.  I  know  how 
you  braved  public  opinion  in  the  old  days.  But  this 
is  different.  We  are  in  the  midst  of  the  greatest 
war  the  world  has  ever  known,  and  the  public  are 
in  no  mood  for  sentimentality.  If  I  refused  to  make 
the  shells — what  then?  Every  one  would  cut  me,  my 
constituents  would  disown  me,  the  papers  would  call 
me  traitor,  the  church  would  crow  over  the  downfall 
of  a  leading  dissenter,  I  should  be  hissed  in  the 
House,  my  business  ruined — I — I  might  be  shot." 

He  glanced  at  each  face  and  found  no  sympathy. 

"Well !"  he  blurted  hoarsely. 

"Well,"  old  Tonks  muttered.    "What  of  it?" 

"That's  it,  you  see,"  Harry  said  kindly.  "Sir 
Alfred  can't  understand  us.  He  thinks — he  believes, 
rather — that  the  papers,  the  church,  the  House  and 
all  that,  matters.  He  thinks  the  ruin  of  his  business 
is  important.  He  might  be  shot.  We  are  thinking  of 
something  else?" 

Somehow  Harry  from  the  first  had  grated  on  Sir 
Alfred's  nerves.  He  had  heard  of  Harry  Tonks 
from  Evelyn.  There  was  something  too  calm  and 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  203 

bland  about  him.  He  never  got  ruffled,  and  spoke  in 
cutting  kindliness,  a  logic  hard  to  meet. 

"I  don't  wish  to  be  rude,"  Sir  Alfred  said,  looking 
straight  at  Harry,  "but  it's  my  opinion  you  should  be 
thinking  of  going  to  France  to  see  what  it's  like  to  be 
shot  at." 

There  was  a  heavy  silence  for  a  moment,  then 
it  was  broken  by  the  deep  breathing  of  old  Tonks. 
Their  eyes  wandered  not,  their  faces  were  set  and 
serious. 

"You  are  entitled  to  your  opinion,  Sir  Alfred," 
Harry  said  quietly. 

"You  may  be  obliged  to  go — yet." 

"They  may  try  force,  but  I  shall  resist — " 

"And  you  a  non-resister,"  Sir  Alfred  grinned. 

"You're  thinking  of  physical  resistance.  I  would 
not  resist  that  way." 

"Anyway,  you  would  be  shot." 

"What  of  it?  That  would  be  better  than  doing 
any  one  any  harm." 

Harry  rose  and  kissed  Ellen. 

"Good  night,"  he  said.  "I  think  I'll  go  up-stairs 
and  be  alone  for  a  while.  Good  night,  Sir  Alfred." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  Sir  Alfred,  like  a  man  in  a 
dream,  took  it  mechanically,  and  dropped  it.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  on  Harry's  face;  there  was  pain 
there,  and  suffering  lay  in  the  eyes.  It  struck  Sir 
Alfred  to  the  core  to  see  a  young  strong  man  hiding 
an  agony  of  the  soul.  Harry  went  away  silently 
and  shut  the  stair  door— it  was  like  as  if  he  had 
passed  out  of  the  world. 

"Come,  dad,  I'll  walk  home  with  you,"  Ed  said. 


204  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  ' 

Sir  Alfred  shook  himself,  and  took  his  hat  and 
stick.    Ellen  went  to  him  and  kissed  his  cheek. 
"Good  night,  Mr.  Tonks,"  he  said. 

They  walked  in  silence  until  they  got  out  of  the 
village.  It  was  very  dark,  and  Sir  Alfred  was  so 
uncertain  of  the  way  Ed  had  to  take  his  arm  to 
steady  him.  The  warm  strong  arm  of  his  son  was 
good  to  feel,  and  he  pressed  it  affectionately,  tightly 
against  his  side. 

"I  told  you  we  were  changed,  dad,"  Ed  said.  "All 
changed!  It  will  be  a  bit  difficult  now,  but  you 
mustn't  think  we  don't — you  know — feel  just  the 
same  about  you.  We  do.  We  feel  more  than  ever 
— all  of  us  do."  Again  Ed  felt  the  tight  squeeze  of 
his  father's  arm  and  side. 

"Don't  feel  sore  at  old  Tonks.  He's  mighty  blunt 
but  sound  as  a  bell.  He  takes  things  to  heart,  he's 
so  old,  you  know.  They've  given  Harry  a  pretty 
bad  time  of  it — " 

"Oh!"  Sir  Alfred  stopped  dead. 

"What's  up?" 

"I've  forgotten  the  registration  forms — left  'em 
on  the  table,"  he  gasped. 

"Never  mind,  to-night.  Send  your  man  down  for 
them  in  the  morning,  and  get  the  rate  collector  to 
deliver  the  rest." 

"No,  I'll  do  it,  Ed.  I'll  do  it  myself  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

They  went  on  again,  the  young  man  used  to  the 
darkness  steering  the  old  man  whose  eyes  were  fail- 
ing. It  was  late  when  they  parted  at  the  foot  of  the 
wide  staircase  in  the  big  quiet  house. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

\ 

ED  was  not  sleepy  when  he  turned  the  light  out. 
He  lay  for  a  long  time  thinking  of  Harry.  Since 
the  night  on  the  road  when  he  gripped  bibulous  Vic- 
tor Lawley's  arm,  he  had  hated  himself  for  feeling 
revengeful.  It  troubled  him  sorely  for  days.  The 
incident  seemed  to  him  so  childish.  Poor  Lawley 
only  gave  expression  in  a  drunken  moment  to  a 
thought  he  would  have  suppressed  had  he  been  sober. 
And  what  did  it  really  matter  if  Lawley  believed  he 
was  a  funk? 

Harry  had  triumphed  that  night  over  his  father, 
and  now  Ed  felt  he  ought  to  have  left  Lawley  alone. 
Harry  had  much  more  reason  to  lose  his  temper. 
In  his  case  there  was  no  superior  officer  to  shield,  to 
be  sacrificed  for,  as  in  his  case.  Army  discipline 
did  not  apply  in  Harry's  case.  The  more  he  thought 
of  the  way  Harry  took  his  father's  insinuations  the 
more  certain  he  became  of  the  victory  of  mind  force 
over  physical  force.  Honor,  which  leans  on  what 
people  think  of  you,  paled  into  insignificance  when 
compared  with  that  honor  which  is  planted  firmly 
in  the  truth  of  what  you  think  of  yourself.  The 
false  conception  of  honor  was  responsible  for  most 
of  the  woes  of  the  world.  Diplomatic  honor  rested 
entirely  on  what  others  thought.  Political,  social  and 
commercial  honor  lay  seldom  in  the  real  mind  of 
individuals.  Strife  arose  from  false  conceptions  of 
honor.  Ed  might  have  struck  Lawley  that  night. 

205 


206  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Indeed  he  could  not  understand  how  he  refrained 
for  his  anger  increased  with  every  step  he  took  back 
to  find  the  tipsy  fellow.  So  his  mind  worked  as  he 
lay  sleepless  in  bed  after  the  scene  in  Tonks'  house. 

Lady  Horton-Birkett  was  up  early.  She  had  or- 
dered the  car  to  be  ready  at  half  past  eight  to  take 
her  to  Penasaph.  Sir  Alfred  was  surprised  to  find 
her  in  her  room  dressed  in  hat  and  cloak.  Her 
breakfast  lay  untouched  on  a  tray  near  the  bed. 

"Going  out?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  Alfred/' 

"I  heard  the  car.     Where  you  off  to?" 

"Wales,  dear—" 

"Wales.   Without  your  breakfast?" 

He  stood  near  the  tray  and  looked  the  food  over. 
In  his  dressing  gown  and  pajamas,  his  thin  hair 
ruffled,  and  his  dark  seamy  face  and  chin  bristly,  he 
looked  strangely  unkempt  and  neglected. 

"Surely  you're  not  going  so  far  without  eating?" 

"I  shan't  want  anything  until  I  return." 

"What's  up,  Evie?" 

She  wondered  how  he  would  take  it.  Should  she 
tell  him  or  get  the  ceremony  over  first,  and  then 
break  the  news?  There  was  a  strange  feeling  at  her 
heart,  a  sinking  feeling,  something  like  fear  of  him. 

"You're  very  mysterious,"  he  sneered.  "What 
about?" 

"Perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you  now — " 

What  frightened  him  he  did  not  know.  It  was 
her  manner  perhaps.  Anyway  he  blurted  out :  "Good 
God,  what  is  it?" 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  207 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  she  smiled  uneasily.  "It's 
nothing.  I  am  going  to  communion." 

"All  the  way  to  Wales  ?" 

"There's  no  church  here,  dear." 

He  rubbed  his  head  and  stared  at  her  over  his 
glasses. 

"Where's  it  gone  to  ?    It  was  there  yesterday." 

"There  is  no  Catholic  chur — " 

"Catholic !"  he  gasped. 

He  drew  in  a  long  breath  and  steadied  his  glasses, 
which  tilted  over  as  he  raised  his  head. 

"You're  going  to  communion  at  a  Catholic 
church?" 

"Yes." 

"My  God — my  God!  D'you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
you're  going  to  be  a  Catholic  ?" 

"Yes,  from  to-day." 

"You're  going  to  worship  images — idolatry! — 
you're  going  in  for  holy  water — and  confession — and 
all  that  rot?" 

She  sat  down  and  waited  for  him  to  finish  his 
remarks. 

"What  for?  Why,  in  God's  name?  Have  you 
thought  of  what  it  means?  Do  you  know  you  will 
blast  my  career?  Me,  a  dissenter,  the  president — 
He  gasped  for  breath.  "It's  awful!  Frightful!"  A 
violent  fit  of  coughing  shook  him  for  several  seconds. 
"Anything  but  that.  Call  yourself  an  atheist,  a  Mo- 
hammedan, anything  you  like  but  a  Roman." 

He  sank  on  the  bed,  crushed,  helpless,  a  picture  of 
miserable  impotence.  She  kept  silent  and  let  no  ex- 
pression of  anger  or  contempt  settle  on  her  face. 


208  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Who's  at  the  bottom  of  this?"  He  sprang  up 
and  went  to  her. 

"I  am,"  she  said,  rising  calmly.  "No  one,  but  me, 
Alfred.  I  must  have  some  consolation.  I  can't  find 
it  in  Harold's  church,  and  you  I  scarcely  ever  see 
now — " 

"Of  course  not.  How  can  I  be  here  when  the 
Government  is  at  me  all  the  time.  I  have  to  stay  in 
London  ready  to  be  on  hand — any  moment." 

He  paced  up  and  down  wrestling  with  his  thoughts 
which  hurt  him  and  favored  her. 

"Great  heavens!  Everything's  going  to  pieces," 
he  cried. 

"Yes,  everything.  Nothing  will  ever  be  the  same 
again.  We  are  all  adrift,  Alfred,  and  I  must  clutch 
something  to  bear  me  out  of  all  this  despair.  I  have 
been  very  unhappy.  I  can't  live  in  tears  forever — 
my  nature  will  not  bear  it.  Do,  please,  do  let  me 
find  peace  where  I  can.  No  one  shall  know.  I  shall 
not  make  you  look  ridiculous,  dear.  Let  me  find 
God  in  my  own  way.  That's-  all  I  ask." 

She  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  to  her  breast. 

"I  knew  it  would  hurt  you,  Alfred,  but  something 
compelled  me  to  do  it.  Our  quarrels — Harold,  I 
mean — you  know — and  poor  Evelyn's  trouble — then 
Ellen — and  Ed.  You  left  me  alone  to  bear  all  that. 
It  was  more  than  my  mind  could  stand.  You  have 
business,  the  House,  and  the  war  to  think  of,  lots 
of  things  to  take  your  mind  off  your  family  matters. 
Now,  don't  take  it  to  heart.  Remember  it  is  my  own 
affair,  and  I  shall  keep  it  entirely  to  myself." 

He  dare  not  speak.  All  he  could  do  was  to  wave 
his  hands  hopelessly  and  turn  away  to  the  window. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  209 

"It's  late,"  she  said.    "Good-by,  I  must  go." 

The  car  hummed  away  down  the  drive.  He  heard 
the  horn  sound  like  a  low  moan  as  the  car  signaled 
at  the  gate  to  turn  into  the  road.  A  slight  drizzle 
was  falling,  the  trees  were  still,  and  the  grass  so 
green.  He  could  see  a  patch  of  the  drive  far  away 
to  the  left,  and  the  figure  of  Ben  walking  briskly 
toward  the  house.  Immediately  he  thought  of  the 
registration  forms.  Was  Ben  bringing  them  to  him? 
A  heavy  sigh  shook  him  as  he  turned  away  to  go  to 
his  room.  Passing  the  door  of  Evelyn's  room,  he 
heard  her  singing  to  her  babe.  He  listened  for  a 
while  and  then  went  in. 

"Dad,  what's  the  matter?"  Evelyn  cried,  with 
startled  eyes.  "You  look  awful." 

He  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  rubbed  the  baby's 
bare  fat  legs. 

"Cricket,  how  long's  your  mother  been  thinking  of 
being  a  Catholic — a  Roman?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know.     Why?" 

"She  told  me  she  is  going  to  communion  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Well,  if  she  is?" 

"Ah,  you  don't  understand — " 

"No,  I  don't.  I  never  could  understand  anything 
about  that  kind  of  thing.  But  can't  she  please  her- 
self, dad,  what  she  does  with  her  own  soul?" 

"Her  soul  belongs  to  God. 

"I  know.    That's  what  I  mean." 

"But  a  Roman—" 

"Can't  a  Roman  give  her  soul  to  God?" 

"God  is  not  a  painted  plaster  cast — 

"No,  not  any  more  than  God  is  a  dissenting  chapel 


210  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

or  Harold's  church.  Leave  mother  alone,  dad. 
She's  going  to  be  a  happier  woman.  It's  refreshing 
to  find  even  one's  own  mother  worshiping  anything 
but  the  god  of  war  these  days." 

She  leaned  forward,  picked  the  crooning  baby  up 
and  shook  him  joyously  above  her  head. 

"Here  is  my  god.  Look  at  him,  dad.  What 
sweeter  heaven  than  his  truthful  eyes.  Kiss  him! 
There!  Lord,  you're  bristly  this  morning.  Now  be 
off  and  shave." 

Ben  had  brought  the  forms.  A  note  from  him 
said  they  were  found  under  the  table.  Sir  Alfred 
felt  as  he  regarded  them  that  Ben  had  hastened  to 
get  them  out  of  the  house.  After  breakfast  Sir 
Alfred  sent  for  his  secretary,  the  immaculate  Mr. 
Tring,  and  asked  him  to  deliver  the  rest  of  the  forms 
as  he  was  feeling  far  from  well.  Mr.  Tring,  who 
was  an  expert  statistician,  readily  complied,  and 
clad  in  burberry  and  suitable  boots  started  on  his 
errand.  The  Sunday  papers  came  on  the  ten  o'clock 
train  and  interested  Sir  Alfred  for  half  an  hour. 
One  contained  a  long  article  on  the  patriotism  of 
dissenting  churches,  and  incidentally,  the  great  work 
done  by  Sir  Alfred  Horton-Birkett,  Bart,  M.  P., 
in  manufacturing  munitions.  When  Ed  joined  his 
father  the  morning  had  become  gloomy,  and  heavy 
rain  soaked  the  paths  and  lawns.  The  outlook  was 
cheerless,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  in  for  a 
long  wet  day. 

"Been  over  to  see  Herbert's  gees  at  the  farm," 
Ed  said.  "I  wish  Cricket  would  let  me  sell  them. 
Prices  are  high,  and  they'll  do  no  good  over  there 
eating  their  heads  off." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  211 

"We're  importing  a  lot  of  mules,"  his  father  re- 
marked disconsolately. 

"I  know.     What's  in  the  papers?" 

"Nothing  much.  It's  going  to  be  a  long  business, 
I'm  afraid. 

"Three  years  more,  eh,"  Ed  muttered,  reading  a 
paragraph  pointed  out  by  his  father.  "Hullo!  here's 
something  about  you.  Gas  shells!" 

Ed  read  the  article  through. 

"I  wish  they  could  have  done  without  that,"  he 
said,  rilling  his  pipe.  "It's  a  great  pity.  Retali- 
ation knocks  the  bottom  out  of  the  moral  attitude  we 
took  up  when  the  Germans  used  gas." 

"We  must  do  something,"  his  father  said  in  ex- 
tenuation. 

"Sorry  you  had  to  do  it." 

"Can't  help  myself." 

"The  girls  and  mother  feel  it  terribly." 

"I  feel  it  myself.  Nobody  seems  to  think  of  my 
feelings." 

"But  can't  you  throw  it  up?"  Ed  asked. 

"And-  leave  our  fellows  to  be  wiped  out?" 

"They'll  be  wiped  out  anyway.  If  it  isn't  gas, 
it's  muddle.  If  it  isn't  one  tiling  it's  another.  All 
the  nations  are  being  wiped  out.  Look  at  the  Dar- 
danelles. It  isn't  war,  it's  scientific  slaughter  now. 
Everything  is  changed.  We've  had  to  swallow  every 
single  principle  we  started  to  establish.  Lemnos  and 
Salonika!  Persia  and  the  blockade.  Then  the  black 
races.  It  is  all  hell  gone  raving  mad.  Get  out  of  it, 
"dad." 

"I  can't." 

"What  are  you   afraid  of?     The  business?     We 


212  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

don't  want  it.  Throw  it  up.  I  shan't  touch  a  penny 
you  leave.  Really,  dad — " 

"But  you've  lived  on  munition  money  as  you  call 
it  nearly  all  your  life." 

"That  can't  be  helped.  Still,  I  don't  intend  to  live 
on  any  more." 

"What  keeps  the  house  going  I  should  like  to 
know?" 

"Munition  money,"  Ed  replied.  "But  I  pay  mother 
my  salary  for  my  keep.  I  pay  her  what  it  would  cost 
me  to  live  moderately  in  a  good  class  hotel  in  town. 
It's  the  best  I  can  do.  I  only  stay  here  because  of 
mother  and  Evelyn." 

His  father  was  too  astonished  to  speak.  He  blew 
his  nose  violently,  and  wiped  his  eyes. 

"Can't  we  make  you  understand  we  are  in  down- 
right earnest  about  this  business?"  Ed  asked  gravely. 
"Don't  think  we're  thinking  so  much  of  ourselves 
— we're  thinking  chiefly  of  you — of  what  you  will 
suffer  when  it  is  all  over.  It  seems  to  you  the  mind 
of  the  people  will  not  change,  that  you  will  always 
be  lauded  as  a  patriot.  Now  you  know,  I'm  no 
scholar,  but  since  I've  been  home  I've  been  reading 
what  happened  to  governments  who  led  peoples  into 
war.  It's  interesting — very.  When  the  war's  over 
you'll  have  to  reckon  with  our  folk,  and  the  reck- 
oning will  be  a  heavy  one.  I  should  think  you'd 
see  that  as  a  politician.  The  other  side  seems  to  be 
pretty  certain  that  your  lot's  out,  when  this  is  over, 
for  twenty  years." 

"There's  something  in  what  you  say,  but  the  system 
has  got  me.  It  holds  me  fast.  It  wouldn't  let  me 
go  if  I  wished  to  tear  myself  away." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  213 

"Ben  says  there  is  a  way.  It  is  merely  an  expe- 
dient." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Leave  the  firm  and  give  all  your  shares  to  the 
wounded." 

He  watched  his  father  closely  and  saw  a  new 
light  in  his  eyes.  A  kindly  smile  spread  over  his 
face. 

"You  would  have  enough  from  the  old  coal  and 
oil  business  to  keep  Crowington  going  moderately. 
Why  don't  you  do  it?  You  need  make  no  excuse — 
just  do  it." 

The  light  faded  from  his  face,  and  he  shook  his 
head  sadly.  "But  I  must  be  worth  nearly  two  mil- 
lion," he  muttered. 

"All  the  better.  All  the  more  for  the  fellows  who 
shot  the  stuff  away." 

"I'll  think  it  over,"  his  father  said  with  a  deep 
sigh. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MAJOR  COLNE  and  Billy  were  old  friends. 
They  were  in  India  together  for  some  time 
before  the  war  began.  When  they  met  in  Flanders 
the  major  was  recovering  slowly  from  a  wound  in 
the  neck.  Billy  urged  him  to  go  home  to  recuperate. 

"Go  to  my  place,  and  my  mother'll  take  care  of 
you,"  said  Billy,  forgetting  Clungford  was  really  his 
mother's  place,  for  she  had  saved  it  from  the  wreck 
of  Billy's  fortune. 

Colne  had  been  at  Clungford  for  some  days  when 
Clarice  heard  him  mention  Jawton's  name.  Instantly 
she  thought  of  Ed  and  wondered  if  Colne  had  any 
special  information,  news  first  hand,  of  the  day  Ed 
was  wounded. 

"Do  you  know  Colonel  Jawton?"  she  asked. 

"Quite  well.  'Brimstone'  Jawton  was  in  India 
when  I  went  out  seven  years  ago.  Billy  knows  him." 

"Did  you  see  him  when  you  were  in  France?" 

"Several  times.     Do  you  know  him?" 

"No.  But  I  heard  about  his  regiment  being  cut  up 
last  autumn.  I've  often  wondered  about  it." 

"Bad  business  that,"  Colne  said,  compressing  his 
lips  and  wrinkling  his  thin  cheeks.  "Very  bad." 

"What  happened?"  Clarice  asked,  fear  tapping  on 
her  heart. 

"Well,  the  fact  is  Jawton's  orders  were  not  car- 
ried out.  He  was  in  charge  of  reserves  which  were 
to  advance  at  five  in  the  afternoon.  All  his  officers 


214 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  215 

had  been  given  written  instructions — everything  was 
perfectly  clear." 

"Were  the  orders  given  to  each  officer?" 

"Each  one  by  Jawton  himself.  Billy  has  the  whole 
story  from  old  'Brimstone.' " 

"And  what  happened  ?" 

"Well,  not  to  use  too  many  military  terms,  the 
center  did  not  move  and  kept  the  wings  back — " 

"But  the  reserves  moved  ultimately — " 

"When  it  was  too  late." 

"Terrible!     Who  was  to  blame?" 

"Oh,  what's  his  name?"  Colne  pondered,  tapping 
his  toe  with  his  cane.  "Bir — Birkett." 

Clarice  was  afraid  to  help  him.    She  kept  silent. 

"Birkett.  Birkett— Horton-Birkett.  That's  the 
name.  Regular  case  of  funk — nerves,  I  s'pose.  Of 
course,  the  story's  common  property  now." 

"Do  many  men  suffer  from  nerves — funk?" 

"Heaps." 

"Then  why  is  the — Horton-Birkett  case  notorious  ?" 

"Suppressed  the  orders." 

"I  see.  There  is  no  doubt  about  that,  Major 
Colne?" 

"None  whatever.  Of  course,  one  doesn't  like  men- 
tioning these  things.  They're  not  nice." 

Clarice  yearned  to  ask  why  Ed  was  offered  the 
Victoria  Cross ;  why  a  funk,  a  man  who  had  lost  his 
nerve,  should  carry  two  men  out  of  fire,  but  she  re- 
frained. There  was  lurking  in  her  another  yearning 
— to  confront  Ed  with  this  man.  To  make  Ed  break 
his  silence,  to  hear  what  he  would  say  to  it  all. 
The  thought  of  doing  it  grew  in  shape  and  completely 


216  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

took  possession  of  her.  Her  motives  were  strangely 
mixed,  but  she  did  not  stop  to  analyze  them.  She 
wanted  the  matter  cleared  up,  settled. 

In  the  afternoon  she  drove  Major  Colne  over  to 
Crowington.  He  did  not  know  where  she  was  taking 
him.  He  was  content  to  let  his  charming  companion 
drive  him,  motor  him  and  walk  him  where  she 
wished.  The  major  was  deeply  smitten.  Billy  had 
said  little  or  nothing  about  his  sister.  She  was  a 
delightful  surprise  to  a  man  who  thought  he  was 
going  to  spend  a  few  days  with  a  lonely  old  widow. 
As  they  drove  over  the  heath  Colne  admired  his 
companion  sitting  up  at  his  side,  driving  a  stylish 
cob.  She  was  pretty,  strong  and  auburn.  He 
glanced  at  her  figure  and  liked  the  strength  of  her 
head  and  bust.  "A  deuced  fine  woman,"  he  thought. 
As  she  turned  into  the  drive  she  asked  if  he  minded 
her  calling  on  some  friends.  No,  he  didn't  mind. 
She  asked  for  Ed.  They  were  shown  into  the  draw- 
ing-room. Ed  came,  pipe  in  hand,  hurrying  to  greet 
her. 

"Garice,  old  girl,"  he  began. 

"Ed,  I've  brought  Major  Colne,  who  is  staying 
with  us  for  a  few  days.  He's  a  friend  of  Billy's." 

Her  heart  sank.  She  saw  the  men  bow,  and  no- 
ticed the  embarrassment  of  the  major  who  looked  at 
her  for  her  friend's  name. 

"Yes.    Do  sit  down."    Ed  waved  them  to  chairs. 

"I  didn't  catch  the  name,"  Major  Colne  remarked. 

"Major  Colne,  this  is  Captain  Horton-Birkett," 
Clarice  said  timidly.  Her  heart  thumped  like  a  trip- 
hammer. 

"Oh — y-e-s,"  Colne  drawled,  fixing  his  eye-glass. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  217 

"Perhaps  you  will  tell  Ed — Captain  Horton-Birkett 
— what  you  told  me  this  morning — " 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  Isn't  this  rather  unusual?" 
the  major  asked,  not  in  the  least  flustered. 

"I'm  sorry,  but — "  The  rest  stuck  in  her  throat. 
Ed  saw  she  was  in  great  distress. 

"What  is  it,  Clarice?"  he  inquired  kindly. 

She  rose  with  difficulty,  and  steadied  herself  at  the 
side  of  the  piano. 

"It's  about — about  Jawton  and  the  orders — " 

"Well,   go   on,   dear." 

"Major  Colne  says  you  suppressed  them — " 

Colne  raised  his  hand  reprovingly:  "Scarcely.  I 
said  it  was  the  common  report.  Let  us  be  accurate." 

"I  didn't,"  Ed  said  quietly,  "but  what  does  it  matter 
now?" 

This  stung  Clarice  into  energy  again.  She  flashed 
a  glance  of  scorn  at  him. 

"What  does  it  matter?  Don't  you  care  what  they 
say  about  you?  Major  Colne  says  it  was  a  regular 
case  of  funk.  Was  it?" 

"No." 

"You  didn't  suppress  the  orders?" 

"That  is  obvious.     Would  I  be  here  if  I  did?" 

"And  you  take  it  all  so  calmly — " 

"Yes.  Did  you  bring  Major  Colne  over  to  tell 
me  what  is  said?" 

"Y-e-s,  I  did,"  Clarice  stammered  in  vexation. 

"Very  good.     Now,  Major  Colne,  proceed  please." 

Colne  took  his  eye-glass  out,  put  it  in  again  and 
coughed. 

"Perhaps  you  ought  to  know  I  hadn't  the  faintest 
notion  I  was  going  to  meet  you,"  he  observed. 


218  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Well.     Here  I  am.     Don't  hesitate,  Major." 

"I  have  not — nothing — more  to  say.  I'm  sorry  this 
has  happened.  I  merely  told  Miss  Clungford  what  I 
had  heard." 

"But,  Ed — Ed,"  Clarice  gasped,  "won't  you  say  it's 
all  a  lie — that  Jawton  lied?" 

"No.    I'll  not  discuss  Jawton." 

"You  can't  very  well  do  that,  can  you?"  Colne 
put  in. 

"Not  any  more  than  you  can  discuss  any  action 
you  can  know  nothing  about  You  were  not  there. 
You  only  know  what  the  army  gossips  say — " 

"But  why  don't  you  put  an  end  to  the  gossip  by 
clearing  yourself?"  Clarice  cried.  "Ed,  you  don't 
seem  to  understand.  You  leave  me  open  to  meet 
these  statements  without  a  word.  It  is  hateful  of 
you.  Have  you  no  pride?  Haven't  you  the  courage 
to  tell  them  it's  all  lies?" 

He  saw  how  deeply  she  felt  the  gossip.  He  knew 
how  proud  she  was.  And  in  his  mind  a  short  ques- 
tion, the  one  that  he  had  borne  for  weeks  trying 
to  decide  finally,  kept  putting  itself  to  him:  "Is  it 
fair  to  ask  her  to  share  the  new  life?" 

Here  was  a  chance  to  put  an  end  to  it. 

"I  don't  care,  Clarice,"  he  murmured  wearily.  "I 
am  very  sorry  you  are  suffering  for  my — faults — 
very  sorry,  but  I  must  take  my  own  way  of  meeting 
slanders." 

She  went  over  to  Colne  and  said:  "I  owe  you  an 
apology,  Major  Colne.  It  wasn't  nice  of  me  to  bring 
you  here  this  way.  Please  forgive  me.  I  think  we'll 
go  now." 

Ed  opened  the  door  for  them,  and  bowed  as  they 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  219 

drove  away.  It  hurt  worse  than  any  wound.  He 
noticed  when  Colne  helped  Clarice  up  to  her  seat 
that  he  didn't  seem  to  mind  what  she  had  done. 

On  the  way  back  to  Clungford,  Colne  was  very 
chatty. 

"Strange  man  that,"  he  said.  "Always  had  a  pe- 
culiar reputation.  I  remember  a  lot  about  him  now. 
Could  never  get  on  with  old  'Brimstone.'" 

But  he  saw  little  of  Clarice  that  night.  She  had  a 
headache  and  did  not  appear  at  dinner.  Lady  Clung- 
ford, too,  was  not  cheery.  It  was  a  dull  night.  Colne 
was  out  of  temper,  and  thoroughly  bored  before  ten. 
In  leaving  him,  Lady  Clungford  said  she  always  re- 
tired early. 

"There's  little  to  do  here,"  she  remarked.  "But  I 
hope  you  will  not  mind  what  we  do.  Just  stay  as 
long  as  you  like,  and  enjoy  the  country." 

"Thanks,  Lady  Clungford,"  he  said,  "but  I  think 
I  shall  have  to  go  over  to  Minsterley  to-morrow  and 
spend  a  day  there  with  some  old  friends — the  Pad- 
getts." 

"Minsterley,  eh?  Well,  take  an  old  woman's  ad- 
vice, Major.  Don't  believe  all  you  hear  in  Minster- 
ley." 

Colne  left  Clungford  at  lunch  next  day  without 
seeing  Clarice. 

"Was  Clarice  here  to-day,  Ed?"  his  mother  asked 
at  dinner. 

"She  brought  a  man  to  see  me — a  Major  Colne." 
"Oh!     What  about?" 

"Some  gossip.     About — well,  never  mind,  mater." 
"May  I  ask  about  Clarice  ?" 


220  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Yes.  But  that  is  all  over.  Don't  let  us  say  any 
more." 

"You  don't  mean  you  and  Clarice  have  quarreled, 
do  you?"  his  father  inquired. 

"No — there's  been  no  quarrel." 

"Oh !  a — well — yes — "  Sir  Alfred  muttered,  watch- 
ing Ed's  face. 

They  ate  in  silence.  Evelyn  toyed  with  the  silver 
between  the  courses.  Her  mother,  full  of  the  spiri- 
tual experience  of  the  morning,  seemed  content. 
Ed  drew  figures  on  the  cloth  with  the  prong  of  a 
fork,  while  his  father  with  hands  clasped  on  the  table 
seemed  to  sink  deeper  and  deeper  into  his  gloomy 
thoughts.  It  was  a  strange  meal.  All  the  gaiety 
and  joy  of  the  family  board  of  some  years  ago  were 
gone.  Like  shadows  they  sat  without  sense  of  the 
presence  of  the  others.  Not  until  they  found  their 
corners  in  the  pleasant  ingle  of  the  billiard  room 
did  they  rouse  themselves  out  of  their  moodiness. 

"Have  you  heard  from  Fred?"  Lady  Horton- 
Birkett  asked. 

"He's  still  in  Ireland,"  her  husband  replied.  "Very 
proud  of  his  commission.  He  wants  to  go  to  the 
Dardanelles,  but  he  thinks  there's  no  chance  at  pres- 
ent. He's  at  the  school  of  musketry,  learning  ma- 
chine-gun work." 

"That'll  suit  Fred,"  Evelyn  said.  "He  was  always 
keen  on  a  mechanical  toy.  Didn't  he  want  to  be  an 
engineer,  mater?" 

"Yes,  before  he  went  to  Oxford." 

"Robert  is  quite  well  again,  I  hear.  He  has  been  in 
a  terrible  battle — only  four  hundred  and  seventeen 
left  out  of  one  thousand.  He  wasn't  scratched." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  221 

"Did  any  one  look  at  the  casualty  list  to-day  ?"  Eve- 
lyn asked. 

They  seldom  spoke  of  casualties.  When  the  papers 
came  each  looked  them  over  and  said  nothing  about 
dead  or  \vounded  friends  and  acquaintances.  They 
had  lost  so  many.  A  tacit  understanding  had  made 
casualty  lists  taboo. 

"I  didn't  see  the  papers  to-day,"  Lady  Horton- 
Birkett  said. 

"I  don't  look  at  the  names  now,"  Sir  Alfred 
muttered. 

"They're  very  heavy.  I  just  glanced  at  the  list," 
Ed  said. 

Evelyn  rang  the  bell  and  asked  the  butler  to  bring 
the  Observer.  Sir  Alfred  dozed  off,  and  his  head 
(dropped  until  his  chin  rested  just  above  the  diamond 
in  his  shirt.  He  breathed  heavily.  His  wife  read 
a  tract,  and  Ed  blew  rings  of  smoke  from  the  bowl  of 
his  pipe. 

"Jawton,  Ed?"  Evelyn  cried,  staring  at  the  paper. 

"Eh — yes — what?"  her  father  mumbled,  waking 
up  suddenly. 

"Died  of  wounds." 

"Who—" 

"Colonel  Thomas  Q.  Jawton." 

"What  about  him?"  Sir  Alfred  asked,  now  quite 
awake. 

"Dead!    Died  of  wounds!" 

"God  bless  us,  you  don't  say  so?" 

Ed  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  pipe:  "Poor 
chap !"  he  muttered. 

Sir  Alfred  rose  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire- 
less  grate.  He  watched  Ed  for  a  few  minutes. 


222  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Ed,  I  went  to  see  Major  Pomeroy-Fanton — some 
time  ago  now,"  Sir  Alfred  began. 

"Where  did  you  see  him  ?" 

"New  Forest.  He  was  taken  there  by  his  mother. 
Awful  sight,  Ed.  Terrible!  His  mother  wrote  to 
me — asked  me  to  run  down — he  wanted  to  tell  me 
something.  It  was  about  Jawton." 

"He  spoke  to  you  about  Jawton?" 

"Yes.    Why?" 

"He  was  under  orders,  to  say  nothing  about — 
about—" 

"What  happened?" 

"Yes." 

"Were  you  all  under  orders  ?" 

"Of  course." 

"Well,  perhaps  he  thought  he  might  die.  Anyway, 
he  told  me  no  orders  came  from  Jawton  that  day." 

"Did  he?" 

"He  said  that  was  for  my  own  information." 

"Have  you  kept  it  quite  to  yourself,  dad?" 

"Never  breathed  a  word  to  any  one." 

"But  why  on  earth  didn't  you  tell  Ed  before  this  ?" 
Evelyn  demanded  angrily. 

"Well,  I — I  thought  he  would  like  me  to  keep  it  to 
myself." 

The  night  was  fine.  After  the  heavy  rain  a  fresh 
drying  breeze  blew  from  southeast,  and  the  fields 
gave  their  odors  to  the  winds.  The  leaves  rippled  in 
swaying  rhythms,  and  the  poplars  in  the  park  leaned 
their  tops  in  nodding  curves  toward  the  flash  in  the 
western  sky.  Furnaces  sent  their  flares  upward  to 
the  heavens,  Staffordshire  way,  where  iron  ran  night 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  223 

and  day,  and  down  ,ihe  line  to  Minsterley  a  freight 
train  rattled  in  and  out  of  Penlow  woods.  The  en- 
gine left  a  trail  of  flame  behind.  Ed  turned  his  steps 
toward  Bramble  Lane,  and  climbed  its  steep  winding 
ways  until  he  reached  Top  House  Farm,  which  stood 
upon  a  plateau  two  hundred  feet  above  the  village. 
The  great  valley  spread  north  and  south  for  forty 
miles  at  his  feet.  Cottage  lights  gleamed  here  and 
there,  in  clusters  in  the  hamlets,  and  over  Minsterley 
a  soft  glow  hung  like  the  reflection  of  a  fading  fire. 
It  was  a  night  to  glory  in.  But  Ed's  thoughts  were 
all  of  Clarice  and  what  had  passed  that  day,  only 
a  few  hours  gone  when  she  brought  Colne  to  see 
him.  So  Jawton  was  dead.  She  could  not  have 
known  that.  But  did  Colne  know  it?  What  might 
have  happened  had  she  waited  another  day?  No,  it 
was  all  for  the  best,  hard  as  it  was,  she  should  think 
he  had  not  the  courage  to  defend  himself  from 
slander.  She  was  gone.  It  was  only  fair  he  should 
not  ask  her  to  share  his  lot.  He  walked  back  around 
Clungford  way,  going  down  the  other  side  of  the  hill 
to  the  heath,  and  met  Harry  Tonks  heading  for  Crow- 
ington.  They  walked  on  for  a  mile  in  silence. 

"I've  been  to  see  a  friend  near  Edstaston,"  Harry 
said.  "He's  in  great  trouble.  He's  had  to  give  up 
his  church." 

"Pressure?"  Ed  asked. 

"Yes,  of  a  kind.  A  colleague  of  his  went  into  a 
factory  to  assist  in  making  shells — " 

"And  his  people  urged  him  to  do  likewise?" 

"No,  but  he  received  postcards  telling  him  to  do 
so.  He's  had  to  fetch  his  small  family  down  here  to 
his  mother.  Since  he's  been  here  he  has  been  per- 


224  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

sistently  canvassed.  He  has  his  wife  and  three  chil- 
dren, no  income  now,  and  a  conscientious  objection. 
His  wife  would  rather  see  him  shot  than  go." 

"Pretty  bad  case." 

"Yes.  Hard — very.  I'm  afraid  he's  not  physically 
strong  enough  to  bear  the  strain.  These  men  go 
down  under  it  when  their  bodies  are  frailer  than 
their  souls.  One  man  I  know  was  bullied  into  going 
to  a  recruiting  office.  He  was  a  gentle  creature, 
strangely  modest,  excessively  refined,  but  manly 
withal.  The  doctor,  pressed  for  time,  used  him 
roughly,  pushed  him  about  as  if  he  were  a  lump  of 
dough  and  told  him  if  his  courage  were  'only  as 
sound  as  his  body  he  would  be  worth  a  charge  of 
shrapnel.  He  died  about  a  fortnight  after  that  exam- 
ination. Brutality  killed  his  soul.  And  he  was  one 
pf  the  most  brilliant  electrical  engineers  of  the  young 
school  we  had.  But  war  can't  waste  time  in  cod- 
dling the  sensitive.  War  must  have  its  food,  tender 
or  tough." 

"Have  you  heard  much  about  what  is  called  'sui- 
cide'?" Ed  asked,  referring  to  the  stories  about  some 
pf  the  men,  forced  by  brutal,  economic  and  social 
methods  to  enlist,  who  decide  to  be  shot  and  not 
shoot. 

"Yes,  a  good  deal,"  Harry  replied.  "A  certain 
society  kept  a  list  of  the  names  of  men  who  enlisted 
to  get  out  of  the  soul  struggle,  and  in  three  months 
over  twenty  men  out  of  four  hundred  were  killed." 

"So  many?"  Ed  gasped.    "That's  awful." 

"Derbyshire,  the  delegate  who  went  to  The  Hague 
last  February,  came  back  with  a  report  from  a  Ger- 
man Socialist — a  woman — that  many  of  her  fellow 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  225 

countrymen  practised  'suicide/  I  believe  it  is  done 
to  a  very  considerable  extent.  A  friend  who  gives 
his  evenings  to  local  Red  Cross  work  in  a  big  city 
told  me  some  fearful  stories  he  had  heard  from  the 
wounded.  A  sergeant,  of  the  Earl's  Own  Foot,  who 
had  been  out  from  the  beginning  of  the  war,  said 
several  of  the  men  of  that  regiment  stood  up,  unable 
to  bear  the  strain  any  longer,  to  be  picked  off  by 
snipers." 

"The  revolt  of  the  soul,  eh?" 

"It's  the  only  way  out." 

"How  will  it  all  end?" 

"In  death — spiritual  death." 

They  parted  in  the  village.  The  lights  were  out 
and  only  the  sound  of  the  wind  in  the  trees  was  heard. 
Between  the  gusts  the  stillness  was  deep.  Ed  turned 
northward  and  soon  left  the  village  behind.  Night 
lay  gently  over  the  hamlets  and  fields,  and  the  soul 
of  the  world  sighed  over  the  dreaming  women  and 
old  men  who  grieved  in  their  sleep  for  the  lost. 

The  registration  forms  were  delivered  and  into  every 
cottage  fear  spread  like  a  disease.  The  old  feared 
for  the  young,  and  the  young  puzzled  how  to  answer 
the  questions.  Only  men  devoid  of  all  knowledge 
of  cottage  life  in  the  country  could  have  framed 
such  questions.  Ed  and  Ellen  had  to  assist  many 
people  in  filling  up  the  forms.  "Are  you  skilled  in 
any  other  work?"  was  a  bureaucratic  conundrum 
which  caused  more  head  scratching  than  all  the 
puzzles  that  ever  came  into  Crowington.  It  was  a 
busy  week  for  Ed  and  Ellen.  News  spread  quickly 
over  the  countryside  that  the  captain  and  Mrs.  Ben 


226  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

knew  the  answers  to  most  of  the  questions,  and  they 
were  called  in  to  help  numbers  of  cottagers  out  of 
their  difficulties. 

A  man  of  sixty  stopped  Ed  on  the  road. 

"Capt'n,  would  yer  mind?  I  be  sore  troubled. 
Them  papers  beat  me.  What  be  I  to  do?" 

"What's  your  age?"  Ed  asked. 

"Sixty— come  All  Souls'  Day.  But  will  they  take 
me  to  fight?" 

"No,  no.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  answer  the 
questions." 

"But  what  for,  if  they  dunno  want  me  ter  fight?" 

"Just  to  have  a  record  of  available  men  and 
women." 

"Be  women  going  to  fight?" 

"No.  Women  may  be  wanted  to  work  in  certain 
factories." 

"My  ould  woman?" 

"How  old  is  your  wife?" 

"Sixty-two — gone  midsummer.  But  her's  worse  en 
me  with  rheumatics — asthma,  too.  And  what'll  the 
grandchilder  do?" 

"Have  you  to  look  after  your  grandchildren?" 

"Aw.  Four  on  'em.  'Their  father's  at  front,  and 
their  mother's  dead.  Three  o'  my  lads  joined  the 
army.  Two's  at  front,  an'  one's  at  Masham  training." 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"At  cottage  above  Hill  House  Farm." 

"I'll  come  up  this  evening  and  help  you." 

"Thankee,  Capt'n,  it'll  be  a  mercy." 

Ed  found  the  work  of  exceeding  interest,  and  the 
simple  folk  appealed  to  him.  He  gained  their  con- 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  227 

fidence,  so  hard  to  win  after  generations  of  oppres- 
sion. 

Several  mornings  after  his  interview  with  Clarice 
and  Major  Colne  he  received  a  letter  from  the  head 
nurse  at  the  hospital  in  France  where  Jawton  died. 
It  was  a  strange  document.  The  address  was  blocked 
out  by  the  censor.  It  ran: 

"Dear  Sir— 

"I  have  spent  many  hours  with  Colonel  Jawton 
who  died  last  night  from  terrible  wounds.  He  never 
lost  consciousness.  I  think  it  is  only  fair  and  right 
to  tell  you  what  I  learned  from  him  concerning  you. 
The  censor  here  consents  to  my  making  the  state- 
ment to  you,  but  he  says  I  must  not  divulge  it  to 
any  one  else. 

"Colonel  Jawton  said  he  was  entirely  to  blame  for 
the  mishap  in  which  you  were  wounded.  He  forgot 
to  give  the  order  to  the  reserves.  An  order  had 
been  given  and  revoked  and  a  new  order  issued,  but 
owing  to  the  shortage  on  the  staff  he  got  confused. 
The  rapidity  of  the  attack  on  the  first  line,  and  the 
miscalculation  of  German  strength  and  preparedness, 
were  the  causes  of  the  chaos.  The  colonel  was  for 
some  time  under  the  impression  he  had  sent  the  new 
order  down,  but  a  long  time  after  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  he  must  have  been  thinking  of  the  first 
order  which  was  revoked.  This  has  troubled  him 
more  than  his  wounds. 

"My  friend  Nurse  Wilkin  attended  you  at  Hospital 

(censored)  and  told  me  about  you  and  the 

gossip  of  (censored).     So  I  hasten  to  let 

you  know  what  I  heard  from  the  colonel.  Nurse 
Wilkin  has  given  me  your  address  and  wishes  to  be 
remembered  most  kindly  to  you. 

"Sincerely  yours, 

"Margaret  Eames  Browne." 


228  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

What  an  amazing  mess  and  muddle  all  war  was! 
Ed  thought.  And  it  was  for  this  millions  of  men  of 
Europe  were  drilled  and  thrown  into  action.  The 
victims  of  incompetence,  seeking  victory  through 
paper  military  plans  made  by  shallow  minds,  wading 
through  the  chaos  of  blood  and  grime  to  the  triumph 
of  slavery  and  economic  woe. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  villagers  of  Crowington  assembled  early  at 
the  doors  of  the  Institute.  Word  had  come 
to  them  that  the  parishes  round  about  had  been 
persistently  canvassed  for  three  days,  and  the  farm- 
ers had  been  urged  to  fetch  up  their  men  to  hear 
the  great  speakers.  The  people  of  Crowington  were 
not  going  to  take  a  back  seat,  not  likely,  at  their 
first  real  political  meeting  and  let  the  folk  from  be- 
yond the  village  fill  the  front  forms.  For  an  hour 
before  the  appointed  time  for  opening  the  doors 
over  one  hundred  men  and  women  stood  in  the  gravel 
path  which  led  to  the  steps  of  the  building.  There 
were  many  more  women  than  men,  and  the  men 
were  not  of  military  age.  Shopkeepers  and  parish 
functionaries  mingled  with  the  laborers  and  pen- 
sioners. As  the  hour  wore  on  they  were  added  to 
by  farmers  and  their  workers  from  farms  lying  some 
distance  away.  Jennis,  of  Heath  Farm,  had  brought 
in  his  milk  cart  three  of  his  men.  Boulton,  a  grazier, 
had  driven  in  two,  and  old  Mrs.  Fox  of  the  Vale 
House,  came  in  her  wagonette  with  three,  a  wag- 
goner, a  cowman  and  her  coachman. 

There  was  room  enough  when  the  first  rush  was 
over,  and  though  the  Crowington  folk  were  in  first 
they  did  not  get  front  seats,  these  being  reserved  for 
the  gentry.  Then  others  dribbled  in  in  twos  and 
threes.  The  younger  men  either  stood  at  the  wall 
at  the  back  of  the  room,  or  sat  quietly  on  the  back 

229 


230  A  STRONG  MAN'S.  HOUSE 

bench.  Those  in  the  body  of  the  hall  spoke  in  whis- 
pers; there  was  less  animation  than  to  be  found 
at  church  before  the  prelude.  Lady  Clungford  and 
Clarice  were  the  first  to  take  reserved  seats;  Mrs. 
Harold  and  her  sister  followed,  from  the  anteroom. 
When  Ed  stalked  into  the  hall  few  noticed  him  for 
he  took  a  seat  at  the  back.  Ellen  and  Ben,  too,  were 
content  with  seats  near  the  door;  they  did  not  see 
Ed,  he  was  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall. 
Every  now  and  then  Ben  rose  and  surveyed  the 
audience.  He  could  see  no  men  of  military  age  in 
the  forms  in  front  of  him. 

"How  many  have  they  drummed  tip  ?"  Ellen  asked. 

"About  a  dozen,  I  should  think,"  he  ventured,  "and 
they  seem  to  be  nearer  forty-five  than 'thirty." 

"Did  you  see  the  recruiting  officer  from  Minsterley 
in  the  yard?" 

"Yes.    He  asked  a  man  to  join — " 

"Did  you  hear  what  he  said?" 

"No,  I  didn't  catch  his  reply." 

"He  said,  'Ask  sumon  who  anna  got  a  wife,  a 
mother  and  six  little  'uns  to  fend  for.' " 

"Harold  will  not  land  much  of  a  catch  after  all 
his  hard  work?"  Ben  said.  "What  a  business! 
Seventy-five  per  cent,  of  the  audience  women  and 
very  old  men.  The  fanners  don't  look  pleasant 
about  it." 

The  speakers  filed  on  to  the  platform.  After  a 
moment's  hush  a  few  people  in  front  applauded. 
Old  General  Pennett  was  a  favorite,  a  kindly  sports- 
man and  what  was  called  a  "good  landlord."  Mr. 
Jevons  Oldcastle  was  a  surprise  to  most  of  the 
people.  They  had  seen  photographs  of  him  at  elec- 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  231 

tion  times,  but  the  full  figure  of  the  original  was 
quite  unlike  the  picture  on  his  election  address.  He 
was  much  older,  fatter  and  heavier  than  they  ex- 
pected. The  champion  of  conservatism  at  close 
quarters  was  no  fire-eating  politician;  Mr.  Old- 
castle  indeed  was  a  mild-looking,  short-sighted  gen- 
tleman of  seventy-two  years.  He  was  accompanied 
by  Mr.  Ruggles,  the  well-known  orator,  who  had 
made  speeches  on  nearly  every  important  question 
which  had  appeared  in  British  politics  for  a  genera- 
tion. Of  him  it  was  said  that  he  could  make  as 
good  a  speech  for  either  side,  as  his  necessity  re- 
quired. The  question  of  the  hour  was  his  bread 
and  butter,  and  for  not  much  of  those  necessaries 
he  was  ready  to  throw  the  whole  weight  of  his 
oratory  on  the  side  which  appreciated  his  skill.  The 
Reverend  Harold  Horton-Birkett  and  other  county 
notabilities  made  up  a  platform  of  various  degrees 
of  merit. 

General  Pennett  was  blunt  and  breezy.  He  did  not 
know  why  Crowington,  of  all  places,  should  be 
chosen  for  such  a  meeting.  It  seemed  to  him  un- 
necessary. There  were  places,  if  the  newspapers 
told  the  truth,  where  there  were  "slackers"  by  the 
thousand.  Crowington  had  done  its  best  and  could 
not  spare  more  men.  The  farmers  had  been  obliged 
to  work  night  and  day  to  get  the  harvest  in,  and 
what  the  devil  they  were  going  to  do  about  plow- 
ing only  the  gentleman  with  the  pitchfork  and  tail 
could  tell.  The  general  was  delighted  to  meet  his 
dear  old  friend,  the  member  for  the  division,  whom 
he  had  not  seen  for  seven  years.  On  rising  to  ad- 
dress his  constituents  Mr.  Oldcastle  explained  how 


232  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

the  great  affairs  of  the  country  kept  him  constantly 
at  Westminster  watching  and  waiting  to  turn  the 
Government  out  of  office.  At  least  that  was  his  posi- 
tion until  war  broke  out.  Since  the  Coalition,  of 
course,  like  every  loyal  Conservative,  he  had  given 
the  Government  his  unqualified  support.  Lightly  he 
touched  on  the  many  great  domestic  questions  laid 
aside  for  the  time  being,  then  he  dealt  with  the  need 
for  conscription  and  high  explosives.  He  did  not 
mention  the  Kaiser,  atrocities  and  the  Russian  all- 
conquering  retreat.  (It  had  been  arranged  in  the 
anteroom  that  these  matters  should  be  left  to  the 
rhetorical  Mr.  Ruggles.)  For  over  half  an  hour 
Mr.  Oldcastle  spoke  as  if  he  were  addressing  an 
empty  room.  The  audience  listened  in  silence,  many 
of  them  noticed  the  general  nodding  in  his  chair, 
and  some  took  strange  interest  in  the  bored  expres- 
sions which  settled  on  the  faces  of  the  people  on  the 
platform. 

Relief  came  in  the  shape  of  a  telegram  which  was 
passed  up  to  the  general.  The  incident  brought  the 
speech  of  the  member  to  an  abrupt  end,  and  he  sat 
down.  On  calling  on  Mr.  Ruggles,  the  general  an- 
nounced the  telegram  was  from  Sir  Alfred  Horton- 
Birkett  who  had  missed  his  train  connection,  but 
hoped  to  reach  the  meeting  before  nine  o'clock. 

Then  Mr.  Ruggles  gave  the  drowsy  people  a  taste 
of  his  quality.  He  launched  into  an  examination 
of  the  Kaiser's  international  police-court  record.  It 
drew  tears  and  laughter  from  the  unsophisticated, 
and  amazement  from  the  educated.  His  accounts  of 
the  marvels  of  the  German  spy  system  were  engross- 
ing. He  mentioned  a  long  list  of  men  who  had 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  233 

lived  in  England,  eating  the  food  of  royalty,  and  the 
aristocracy,  taking  great  British  honors,  laying  concrete 
foundations  for  Krupp  guns,  buying  the  best  of  the 
country's  horses,  stealing  the  plans  of  arsenals  and 
dockyards,  and  sneaking  into  the  offices  of  the  state 
departments  for  the  purpose  of  learning  our  military 
and  naval  secrets.  After  reciting  many  deeds  and 
familiar  names  he  came  to  that  of  Count  Herbert 
Von  Hoist. 

"You  ought  to  know  all  about  it.  You  'ad  one 
of  them  here.  'E  was  a  beauty.  What  did  'e  call 
'imself?  The  'unting  chap  that  started  his  little 
game  early  in  life — at  school  here,  and  then  at  our 
university.  As  big  a  scoundrelly  spy  as  to  be  found 
in  Europe.  Count  'Erbert  Von  'Olst — " 

"That's  a  lie!" 

The  shock  was  terrific.  Mr.  Ruggles  did  not  turn 
pale  because  a  statement  of  his  had  been  called  a 
lie.  Many  a  time  in  his  career  he  had  been  called 
a  liar  to  his  face  without  turning  color.  But  at  such 
a  meeting!  It  was  a  wholly  unexpected  challenge. 
How  was  he  to  suspect  the  presence  of  any  one  bold 
enough  at  a  meeting  in  a  thoroughgoing  Conserva- 
tive village  to  give  his  statement  the  lie?  There 
was  commotion  on  the  platform  and  much  hurried 
whispering.  Harold  was  motioning  frantically  to 
the  general  who  sat  up  and  glared  fiercely  at  the 
confused  and  stammering  Mr.  Ruggles.  The  audi- 
ence showed  no  desire  to  help  him  out  of  his  em- 
barrassing predicament;  they  sat  silent  but  intensely 
interested. 

"Who — who — who  says — it's — a — a  lie?" 

"I  do."    Ed  rose  and  sat  down  all  in  one  moment. 


234  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"So — do — I,"  said  General  Pennett,  with  emphasis 
on  each  word. 

Harold  rose  and  went  to  Mr.  Ruggles.  He  whis- 
pered something.  Those  in  front  said  it  was  a  fierce 
whisper  to  the  effect  that  Mr.  Ruggles  should  drop 
%that,  and  get  on  with  something  else.  The  damage 
had,  however,  been  done.  To  be  called  a  liar  by 
two  soldiers,  one  in  the  audience  and  the  other  in 
the  chair,  was  too  much  opposition  for  the  orator. 
He  resumed  in  a  floundering  choppy  sea  of  observa- 
tions, but  never  recovered  his  control.  Harold  longed 
for  him  to  sit  down,  he  prayed  for  Sir  Alfred  to 
come  to  the  rescue.  He  saw  the  meeting  getting 
out  of  hand.  His  friends  on  the  platform  turned  to 
one  another  and  chatted  in  whispers.  For  half  an 
hour  he  endured  the  agony  of  the  politician  who  sits 
and  sees  an  important  meeting  swaying  over  to  the 
other  side.  Ruggles  had  been  told  to  speak  for  an 
hour,  and  as  speaking  for  an  hour  was  his  bread 
and  butter,  he  stuck  at  it  with  a  bravery  little  appre- 
ciated by  those  who  look  for  it  only  on  battle-fields. 
The  general  passed  the  time  drawing  squares  and 
circles  on  the  agenda  paper,  and  Mr.  Oldcastle  studied 
his  engagements  in  his  note-book. 

Sir  Alfred  was  just  in  time  to  save  the  meeting. 
He  came  in  breathless,  as  if  he  had  run  all  the  way 
from  Minsterley  instead  of  riding  in  his  motor  at 
forty  miles  an  hour.  Mr.  Ruggles  sat  down  while 
the  audience  applauded  Sir  Alfred,  who  stood  bowing 
acknowledgments  with  an  ease  that  proclaimed  his 
familiarity  with  such  incidents.  The  general  called 
on  him  to  speak  at  once.  Then  without  note  or  re- 
flection he  dealt  with  the  military  situation  as  if  he 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  235 

had  just  returned  from  all  the  many  fronts  from 
Bagdad  to  Soissons.  Sir  Alfred  tried  to  make  clear 
the  provisions  of  the  various  acts,  such  as  the  Muni- 
tions Act  and  the  Registration  Act.  His  explana- 
tion was  simple,  but  it  failed  to  rouse  enthusiasm. 
Neither  piece  of  legislation  seemed  to  concern  the 
audience.  The  laborers  of  military  age  at  the  back 
of  the  hall  were  relieved  to  learn  that  the  registra- 
tion forms  they  had  filled  did  not  mean  they  would 
be  taken  away  to  fight  for  their  native  land.  Sir 
Alfred  ventured  to  remark  he  hoped  there  would  be 
no  need  for  conscription.  He  was  opposed  to  all 
forms  of  compulsion.  Anything  which  might  divide 
the  country  was  to  be  avoided  at  all  costs.  The 
hour  was  dark.  They  had  suffered  terribly,  but 
there  was  a  silver  lining  to  every  black  cloud.  More 
men  and  more  munitions  were  urgently  required,  and 
these  would  be  forthcoming.  He  had  no  more  doubt 
of  that  than  he  had  of  what  the  end  would  be.  Vic- 
tory would  come  to  British  arms,  because  the  cause 
was  just.  God  would  not  forsake  His  own.  Western 
civilization  would  triumph  because  it  was  the  highest 
the  world  had  ever  known,  and  its  Christian  ideal  the 
noblest  man  had  yet  reached. 

It  was  a  good  speech,  sound  in  its  principles  and 
wise  in  its  expediency.  The  art  of  omission  was 
practised  without  fear  of  detection.  When  he  sat 
down  the  general  took  his  hand  and  chatted  affably 
with  him  until  he  forgot  to  call  on  the  next  speaker. 
Mr.  Oldcastle  joined  the  group  and  patted  Sir  Alfred 
on  the  back.  It  was  a  delightful  thing  to  see  all 
party  strife  laid  to  rest.  Harold,  who  was  down  to 
move  the  resolution,  waited  impatiently  for  some 


236  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

moments.  After  seeing  some  people  at  the  back  move 
toward  the  door  he  sprang  up  and  shouted:  "The 
meeting's  not  over.  Wait,  please.  I  have  to  move 
the  following  resolution." 

The  resolution  welcomed  the  National  Registration 
Act  and  pledged  the  meeting  to  support  the  Govern- 
ment in  introducing  effective  measures  to  bring  the 
war  to  a  speedy  and  successful  conclusion.  Harold 
began  by  saying  the  hour  was  late  for  a  country  audi- 
ence, but  that  he  would  not  detain  them  long.  To 
fight  such  a  war  the  army  must  have  men  and  mu- 
nitions. He  had  gone  about  a  good  deal  making  re- 
cruiting speeches  because  he  was  convinced  it  was 
his  duty  as  a  Christian  to  help  to  overthrow  the  god- 
less philosophy  of  modern  Germany.  But  when  he 
saw  millions  of  young  men  hanging  back  it  made  his 
blood  boil.  There  were  thousands  of  slackers  and 
shirkers,  he  was  sorry  to  say,  who  would  rather 
soak  themselves  in  beer  and  do  everything  in  their 
power  to  prevent  the  factories  turning  out  ammu- 
nition, so  badly  needed  by  our  brothers  in  the  trenches, 
that  he  sometimes  despaired  of  the  end.  General 
Pennett  had  wondered  why  this  meeting  had  been 
held  in  Crowington.  He  would  try  to  explain.  He 
had  a  list  of  thirty  men  of  military  age  living  in 
the  parish  who  had  not  enlisted.  It  was  shameful. 
If  there  were  one  hundred  parishes  in  the  west 
counties  containing  thirty  men  that  meant  three  thou- 
sand probable  soldiers,  and  so  on.  It  was  not  fair 
to  the  men  who  were  crying  out  for  support  against 
unscrupulous  foes  who  had  been  preparing  to  crush 
us  for  over  forty  years.  He  could  name  men  living 
in  their  midst  who  pught  to  be  in  khaki.  Only  a 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  237 

few  days  ago  he  saw  one — a  Mr.  Harry  Tonks — 
loafing  about — 

"Put  the  resolution  and  sit  down,"  Ellen  cried. 

"I  will  not—" 

"Name  the  others,"  Ben  demanded. 

"I  will  please  myself — " 

"What  is  keeping  you?  Why  don't  you  go?"  Ed 
asked. 

That  evidently  had  not  occurred  to  Harold.  He 
was  visibly  embarrassed.  But  only  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. 

"I  am  a  clergyman,  and  my  duty  is  here  among 
my  parishoners.  If  I  were  free  I  would  not  hesitate 
for  a  single  second.  For  God  and  the  Right  I  should 
seek  any  death.  It  would  be  a  holy  duty  to  fight 
against  the  Mammon  of  unrighteousness.  And  let 
me  tell  you — particularly  those  men  hanging  about 
at  the  back  of  the  hall — that  it  is  better  to  .go  now 
than  to  wait  to  be  fetched.  What  is  there  to  fear? 
The  soldier's  life  is  full  of  honor  and  glory.  If 
I  had  not  been  a  clergyman  I  would  have  been  a 
soldier.  There  is  no  greater  service  man  can  do 
than  defend  his  country.  At  the  front  you  will  find 
men  full  of  nobility  and  sacrifice.  The  Government 
pays  them  well.  There  is  separation  allowance,  some- 
thing for  the  children,  pensions,  and  every  conceiv- 
able compensation.  Now,  you  men,  will  you  volun- 
teer? The  recruiting  officers  are  here.  Is  Mr. 
Harry  Tonks  here?" 

Ben  rose. 

"No,  but  his  brother  is,  and  I  think  we  have  heard 
quite  enough  from  you,  Vicar.  You  have  specially 
singled  out  my  brother  and  some  men  at  the  back  of 


238  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

the  hall  here.  Why  I  don't  know.  That  is  some- 
thing only  you  can  explain." 

General  Pennett  was  not  a  good  chairman.  He 
allowed  Ben  and  Harold  to  enter  into  a  discussion 
without  calling  for  order. 

"I  have  the  floor.    Sit  down,"  Harold  shouted. 

"There  is  a  limit  to  procedure  when  an  audience 
is  taken  advantage  of  as  you  have  taken  advantage 
of  this  to-night.  You  have  brought  a  man  here  to 
speak  that  is  an  insult  to  the  intelligence  of  men, 
even  men  who  dare  not  protest.  You  sat  and  listened 
to  statements  that  you  knew  were  false  until  your 
brother  and  General  Pennett  showed  their  disap- 
proval. Now  I  want  to  tell  this  audience  before 
you  make  another  appeal  for  recruits,  that  con- 
scription is  not  yet."  Ben  turned  about  and  faced 
the  audience.  "Men,  you  must  consult  your  own  con- 
sciences. Do  not  let  yourselves  be  bullied  and  brow- 
beaten by  any  one  into  fighting  when  you  do  not 
wish  to.  By  signing  a  registration  form  you  do  not 
pledge  yourself  to  enlist.  If  you  do  not  want  to 
enlist  there  is  not  yet  any  law  that  can  force  you. 
You  have  given  your  brothers,  sons  and  fathers. 
Crowington  has  done  its  share — " 

A  recruiting  officer  and  a  policeman  moved  from 
the  door  to  the  place  where  Ben  stood  speaking 
calmly,  deliberately.  The  policeman  touched  Ben  on 
the  shoulder  and  asked  him  to  come  outside. 

"You're  arrested,"  Harold  cried. 

"I  know.  Arrested  for  interfering  with  your  re- 
cruiting meeting,  Vicar.  I'm  not  taken  by  surprise." 

After  they  took  Ben  from  the  room  Ellen  rose. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  239 

"I  should  like  to  appeal  to  General  Pennett.  Is  there 
any  law  that  can  force  a  man  to  enlist?" 

"No,  there  is  not,"  the  general  said,  "and  I  hope 
there  never  will  be.  But  there  is  a  law  that  deals 
severely  with  people  who  interfere  with  recruiting. 
I  dislike  most  of  the  methods  of  getting  men  to 
join  the  colors;  they  are  not  manly,  and  go  against 
the  grain.  But  no  matter  what  the  methods  be,  every 
man  should  consider  solemnly  his  duty  to  his  country." 

"Thank  you,  General,"  Ellen  said.  Then  turning 
to  the  men  at  the  back  of  the  hall  she  said  with 
emphasis.  "You  heard  General  Pennett.  Remem- 
ber! He  said  there  is  no  law  can  force  a  man  to 
enlist.  Remember  what  my  husband  said,  and  take 
my  advice,  'Don't  be  bullied  by  parsons  and  para- 
sites/" 

She  left  the  room.  Every  eye  followed  her  to  the 
door. 

"  'Er's  a  good  'un,  and  'er  big  wi'  child,"  a  woman 
muttered  to  her  husband. 

Harold  was  quickly  on  his  feet  again. 

"When  I  was  interrupted  I  was  making  an  appeal 
for  recruits,  and  I  said  I  had  a  list  of  men  of  mili- 
tary age  who  ought  to  go.  Now  I  wish  it  were 
possible  for  me  to  give  you  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
glory  and  honor  of  the  soldier's  life.  We  read  our 
history,  and  know  the  lives  of  our  martial  heroes. 
But  history  fails  to  tell  of  the  glories  of  the  humble 
soldier.  I  saw  in  an  article  in  a  review  last  month 
that  a  famous  writer  said,  'Every  battle  is  a  thrilling 
glory  bringing  undying  honor  and  praise  to  every 
man  who  does  his  dutv.'  But  that  does  not  picture 


240  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

to  my  mind  the  fulness  of  glory.  No  one  has  ever 
satisfied  me — not  in  literature,  or  painting,  or  music 
— with  a  picture  of  all  it  means — " 

"Really,  General  Pennett,  are  we  to  sit  and  listen 
to  this  drivel?"  Ed  cried  in  a  passion.  He  could 
endure  it  no  longer.  In  trying  to  keep  himself  in 
check  he  tore  his  glove  in  strips.  To  see  Ben  ar- 
rested was  hard  to  bear. 

Harold  stdbd  his  ground.  He  was  determined  not 
to  give  way  again. 

"General,  please  try  to  keep  order/'  he  appealed. 

The  general  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said,  "It 
seems  to  me  a  domestic  affair  not  a  public  meeting." 

"If  I  may  suggest?"  Sir  Alfred  interceded,  rising 
with  some  humility.  "It  is  late,  and  perhaps  tjie  reso- 
lution might  be  put,  and  the  meeting  brought  to  a 
close." 

"Certainly,  Sir  Alfred/'  the  general  agreed. 

"But  I  won't  take  long,"  Harold  cried.  "I  have 
my  duty  to  perform,  and  if  everybody  did  their 
duty—" 

"Duty— duty— duty/'  Ed  cried.  "What  do  you 
know  about  duty?  I'm  sick  of  your  twaddle.  You 
want  a  picture  of  the  glory  of  a  battle-field.  You 
can't  find  it  in  literature,  painting,  or  music.  I'll 
tell  you  what  the  picture  is.  It  is  bloody,  shattered 
men  who  never  quarreled  themselves  staggering  in 
droves  to  death.  It  is  men  full  of  healthy  life  sent 
into  a  hail  of  tearing  metal.  It  is  an  officer  crying, 
'Follow  me!'  and  the  next  instant  his  headless  frame 
marching  on.  It  is  his  men  blinded  by  the  spattered 
flesh  and  blood  of  that  head.  The  glory  of  it  is  to 
meet  your  bosom  friend  face  to  face  in  a  hell  of 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  241 

shrapnel.  To  strike  an  opponent  you  never  saw 
before  down  at  your  friend's  feet.  It  is  glorious  to 
hear  the  cry  of  a  great  love  come  from  the  heart  of 
an  outraged  man.  I  met  Herbert  Von  Hoist  face 
to  face  the  day  I  lost  my  hand.  I  met  my  sister's 
lover — the  man  I  had  loved  as  a  brother — enemies- 
fighting  like  animals.  Harold,  go  and  learn  the  glory 
of  hearing  In  the  midst  of  battle  a  friend  cry  out  for 
your  sister  whom  he  loved.  Go  and  see  the  lifeless 
trunks  and  hear  the  hideous  moans  of  limbless  men. 
Walk  into  the  hail  of  machine-gun  shot.  Go,  Harold, 
you'll  see  the  picture.  Go,  before  you  ask  another 
man  to  go  where  you've  not  been  yourself." 

He  sank  down  trembling  with  passion,  angry  with 
himself  for  giving  way.  He  was  humiliated  in  his 
own  eyes.  A  horrid  feeling  of  shame  covered  him. 
The  general  slowly  rose  to  his  feet  and  in  a  shaky 
voice  said: 

"It  is  a  pity  this  happened.  I'm  sorry,  'pon  my 
soul.  But  I  can't  blame  Captain  Horton-Birkett.  I 
have  an  idea  of  what  he's  been  through.  Perhaps 
it  would  be  better  if  clergymen  didn't  meddle  with 
soldiering.  The  cobbler  should  stick  to  his  last.  I 
suppose  there's  nothing  more  to  be  said.  Now,  you 
better  go  home  and  get  some  rest.  Good  night." 

The  general  walked  off  to  the  anteroom,  and  the 
audience  rose.  Clarice  stood  by  her  mother  irreso- 
lute. Her  strong  desire  was  to  rush  back  to  where 
Ed  was  sitting,  and  beg  his  forgiveness.  Sir  Alfred 
lingered  on  the  platform  chatting  with  Mr.  Old- 
castle.  The  room  was  emptying  fast.  Harold  found 
his  wife  and  helped  her  on  with  her  cloak.  Ed  sat 
bowed,  his  head  on  his  arms,  and  as  the  room  be- 


242  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

tween  him  and  Clarice  cleared  of  the  villagers  she 
saw  him. 

"Mother,  I  must  go  to  him,"  she  said. 

"Can't  for  the  life  of  me  know  why  you  ever  left 
him,"  Lady  Clungford  muttered. 

Clarice  went  and  sat  beside  him.  She  looked  at  his 
bent  figure,  bowed  sadly. 

"Ed — Ed — look  up,"  she  whispered.  "Forgive  me, 
old  man,  I'm  so  miserable,  Ed." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms. 

"Say  you  forgive  me." 

"There's  nothing  to  forgive,  old  girl,"  he  said. 

"Why  didn't  you  tdl  me?" 

"What?" 

"About  Herbert— that  awful  day." 

"I  couldn't,  Clarice.  I  ought  not  to  have  men- 
tioned it  now.  But  I  tried  to  keep  quiet.  I  tried 
to  hold  myself  in.  Never  mind.  It's  done  now. 
There  will  be  a  fearful  row  about  it,  but  I  don't 
care.  I'm  done  with  the  sickening  business." 

"What  row  will  there  be?  Jawton!  Do  you 
mean  Jawton?" 

"No,  Jawton,  no,  old  girl.  Why?  Jawton  is 
dead.  He  can't—" 

"Jawton   dead." 

"Yes — died  of  wounds  some  time  ago.  Now  we're 
free  to  say  no  order  came  to  us  that  day." 

"Oh,  God,  Ed,  you  knew  that  and  didn't  tell  me?" 
She  stared  up  into  his  face,  her  lips  trembling  like 
cherries  in  a  wind.  Her  hands  clasped  about  his 
neck,  and  her  firm  bosom  pressed  against  his  shoulder 
as  she  twined  round  him  to  catch  his  eyes. 

"Ed,  why  didn't  you  say  so?" 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  243 

"Because — because  Jawton  put  the  blame  on  me, 
and  there  it  had  to  rest.    But  now  he  is  gone.    Pome- 
roy-Fanton  told  dad  that  no  order  came  from  Jaw- 
ton.     If  there  was  any  one  to  blame  it  was  Jawton 
himself.     He  should  have  used  his  discretion.     But 
being  one  of  the  old  school  he  never  dreamed  of 
taking  the  initiative.     It  was  hard  for  him  to  see 
his  men  cut  up,  and  as  he  was  a  peppery  person  at 
all  times,  and  disliked  me  very  much,  it  was  only 
natural  his  wrath  should  fall  on  me." 
"And  he  let  you  live  under  that  cloud — " 
"Never  mind,  old  girl,  it's  all  over  now." 
"Come  home  with  me,  Ed,"  she  begged. 

Clarice  lay  in  bed  next  morning  wondering  what 
it  was  that  prompted  her  to  sympathize  with  Ed. 
She  was  so  happy  she  wished  to  live  the  events  of 
the  night  over  again.  Not  until  she  heard  Ed's 
booming  voice  giving  the  lie  to  Ruggles  did  she  know 
he  was  at  the  meeting.  It  was  then  a  subtle  some- 
thing thrilled  her,  a  wave  of  sympathy,  coming  from 
she  knew  not  where,  enveloped  her.  She  felt  like 
crying,  and  anxiously  wondered  where  he  was  sitting. 
His  voice  filled  her  with  a  strange  feeling  of  want- 
ing to  touch  him.  The  rest  of  the  meeting  had  little 
interest  for  her.  But  it  was  Ed's  reference  to  Her- 
bert and  Cricket,  his  meeting  Von  Hoist  face  to  face, 
and  the  description  of  Herbert's  cry,  in  the  roar  of 
battle,  for  his  love;  it  was  that  which  subdued  her, 
made  her  wilt  like  tissue-paper  before  hot  embers. 
Somehow  it  was  like  Ed  crying  to  some  one  for  his 
love — for  herself. 

"Well,  my  lass,"  her  mother  said,  when  they  met 


244  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

at  breakfast,  "you  look  better.  That's  right.  There's 
nothing  like  it  in  all  the  world.  Love's  the  tonic, 
isn't  it?  What  time  did  Ed  go?" 

"It  must  have  been  one  o'clock,"  Clarice  replied. 
"And  I  think  Morris  was  glad  to  wait  up  and  drive 
him  home. 

"Now,  get  married  at  once,  Clarice,  and  be  sensible 
about  it,"  said  Lady  Clungford.  "Don't  bother  about 
the  usual  business.  Everything's  changed.  Let  it 
be  done  quietly — no  fuss — no  advertisement.  I'm 
tired  waiting  for  a  man  to  come  to  this  house,  and 
I'm  not  old  enough  to  be  pensioned  off,  though  I'm 
not  young  enough  for  high  jinks.  It'll  do  me  good 
to  see  you  happily  settled." 

"All  right,  mother,  you  shall  have  it  your  way," 
Clarice  said.  "I'll  see  Evelyn  about  Wilmslow 
Lodge—" 

"No,  don't  bother  about  that.  Come  here  after 
you've  had  a  fortnight  in  Scotland.  Billy  is  away 
and  I  shall  be  lonely — no  hunting,  nothing  going  on. 
Billy  will  never  live  here.  I'll  attend  to  that.  Think 
it  over  and  be  practical." 

Ben  was  taken  to  Minsterley,  there  to  appear  be- 
fore the  magistrate  for  interfering  with  recruiting. 
The  sentence  was  a  severe  one:  three  months  in 
the  second  division.  The  magistrate  was  influenced 
by  the  action  the  authorities  had  taken  against  Ben's 
pamphlet,  To  Conscientious  Objectors.  A  stay  of 
proceedings  was  asked  for  and  refused.  The  option 
of  a  fine  was  not  granted.  The  witnesses  for  the 
prosecution  were  men  carefully  chosen  from  the  audi- 
ence. Ben  declined  to  call  witnesses  in  his  behalf 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  245 

and  pleaded  guilty  to  the  charge.  Harold  was  sum- 
moned to  appear,  but  he  sent  a  doctor's  certificate 
instead. 

Ellen  was  stunned  by  the  severity  of  the  sentence 
and  was  taken  back  to  Crowington  much  shaken. 
She  had  to  think  of  a  life  not  born.  After  a  day 
or  two  she  resolutely  faced  the  ordeal  of  doing  all 
she  could  to  maintain  her  strength.  Ben  told  her 
she  was  not  to  think  of  him;  she  was  to  save  herself 
in  every  way;  there  were  to  be  no  journeys  in  to 
see  him;  no  anxiety,  no  tears.  How  brave  she  was 
in  those  days  only  Ed  and  Harry  Tonks  really  knew. 


THE  news  of  the  'death  of  Count  Herbert  Von 
Hoist  came  to  England  via  Rotterdam.  His 
mother  sent  her  letter  to  Evelyn  by  an  attache  to  a 
neutral  embassy.  The  message  was  so  precious  the 
young  man  undertook  to  deliver  it  in  person,  but  on 
reaching  London  he  was  told  it  was  several  hours' 
journey  down  to  Crowington  and  that  it  would  be 
better  to  send  a  line  to  Miss  Evelyn  and  find  out  if 
she  would  be  there  to  receive  him.  He  wrote  to 
her  saying  he  had  a  letter  from  Count  Herbert's 
mother  which  he  must  deliver  into  her  hands;  a 
letter  so  precious  that  he  would  not  rest  until  it  was 
safe  in  her  keeping.  Evelyn  showed  the  polite 
effusive  note  to  Ed,  who  guessed  instantly  what  news 
the  letter  contained.  Evelyn  saw  it  in  Ed's  face. 
She  took  the  thought  from  him,  and  turned  cold, 
ashen.  He  strove  to  soothe  her  by  saying  it  might 
not  be  serious — wounded  again;  ill,  perhaps! — some- 
thing of  that  kind! — not — !  Their  nerves  were  all 
raw,  Ed  said,  and  they  jumped  to  conclusions — 
often  the  worst.  But  Evelyn  sat  in  abject  despair, 
crying,  "Herbert!  Herbert!  Herbert!" 

Next  evening  she  received  the  letter — a  long  one. 
The  first  page  was  enough  to  convince  her  that  Her- 
bert was  no  more.  Ed  took  the  letter  from  her 
clenched  hands.  While  her  mother  tried  to  comfort 
her,  he  stole  quietly  away  to  read  it.  It  said  Herbert 
was  horribly  torn  by  a  shell.  His  legs  and  one  thigh 

246 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  247 

were  completely  severed.  There  were  wounds  nearly 
all  over  the  rest  of  his  body.  So  the  doctor  who 
saw  him  a  few  hours  before  he  died  wrote  to  his 
mother.  They  buried  him  in  France  near  what  had 
been  a  village  church,  a  few  miles  north  of  Loos. 
His  mother  wrote  saying  her  son's  one  long  year  of 
agony  was  at  an  end.  All  through  the  war  he  carried 
one  awful  thought  that  he  might  kill  an  English 
friend,  one  with  whom  he  had  gone  to  school,  one 
perhaps  he  had  loved  in  those  bright  days  when  his 
friends  on  English  soil  were  many.  His  mother 
had  kept  all  his  letters  for  Cricket  and  she  would 
let  her  have  them  some  day. 

The  letter  was  as  painful  a  document  as  Ed  had 
ever  read.  The  German  woman  of  English  birth  and 
blood  wrote  without  a  single  reference  to  her  own 
grief.  She  said  nothing  of  her  own  suffering,  her 
own  loss.  There  was  no  complaint,  no  censure,  no 
word  of  remorse.  Deep,  terrible,  unavailing  despair 
ran  all  through  its  contents.  What  was  the  use? 
Why  try  to  understand  it  all?  God  had  left  man- 
kind to  perish.  The  war  was  an  affront  to  the  Holy 
Ghost.  Mercy  and  pity  had  been  banished  forever 
from  the  souls  of  rulers  and  statesmen.  Hopeless- 
ness was  the  only  thing  left  whole  in  the  slaughter 
and  destruction  of  men.  Her  husband  had  said 
hell  was  a  place  of  refuge  and  ease  in  comparison 
with  the  world,  and  Satan  hid  his  face  in  shame  at 
the  evil  of  it  all. 

When  Sir  Alfred  came  down  to  Crowington  to 
see  Evelyn  he  was  anxious  and  out  of  temper.  He 
had  put  off  meeting  his  family  for  several  weeks 
fearing  a  rupture.  Ellen  had  written  twice  about 


248  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Herbert's  death  and  had  not  spared  him  in  saying 
what  she  thought  about  the  shell  business.  Fred 
had  gone  to  the  front,  spending  only  a  night  at  Crow- 
ington  en  route  for  a  southern  port.  Sir  Alfred 
saw  him  off  at  Victoria. 

Things  were  all  wrong  in  London,  the  Govern- 
ment toppling  to  a  fall,  the  conscriptionists  mak- 
ing hay  in  every  direction,  the  truth  about  the 
Dardanelles  fiasco  leaking  out,  and  the  newspaper 
war  raging  more  furiously  than  ever.  The  Budget 
had  pleased  no  one.  It  was  a  frontal  attack  on 
the  laboring  classes,  and  a  reversal  of  the  fiscal 
system  which  had  been  maintained  by  the  elec- 
tors at  three  general  elections.  There  was  much  in 
town  to  vex  Sir  Alfred,  there  were  dissension  and 
bitterness  at  Crowington.  Many  times  he  had  wished 
he  could  get  away  from  it  all  for  a  while  and  take 
soundings.  That  his  wife  had  gone  over  to  Roman 
Catholicism  was  a  bitter  blow.  A  Roman,  he  mut- 
tered, whenever  she  came  into  his  mind.  "I,  live 
with  a  Roman!  Perhaps  to  see  her  at  her  mum- 
meries and  counting  her  beads."  No  doubt  she 
would  be  repeating  to  herself  "Hail  Marys"  and 
"Paternosters"  while  he  was  talking  to  her  on  do- 
mestic affairs.  Thank  God,  no  one  knew  of  her 
conversion — that  was  one  blessing  of  the  war,  folks 
were  too  busy  with  other  things  to  listen  to  affairs 
of  that  kind.  She  had  written  several  times  since 
Herbert's  death  begging  him  to  give  up  all  his  in- 
terests in  armaments  and  munitions.  Evelyn  had 
said  she  would  never  speak  to  him  again  until  he 
was  free  of  the  horrible  business.  During  the  jour- 
ney from  town  he  wished  for  rest,  for  time  to  think 


'  A7  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  249 

• — wished  for  new  plans  as  he  never  wished  before, 
but  he  knew,  he  felt,  he  would  find  little  rest  at 
Crowington.  There  seemed  to  be  a  vast  accumu- 
lation there  of  errors,  things  undone,  domestic  blun- 
derings,  for  which  he  was  held  responsible.  Had 
the  war  found  him  out?  Had  his  whole  life  been 
based  on  an  utterly  false  system?  Somehow  events 
were  shaking  the  edifice  of  his  career,  rocking  it 
in  the  cyclone  of  woe,  straining  it  to  breaking  point, 
in  an  upheaval  which  shook  the  very  foundation  of 
his  family  relations.  He  saw  no  welcoming  gleam 
of  light  to  lead  him  out  of  the  chaos.  Was  he  a 
victim  of  the  system? 

Ellen  came  to  dinner.  It  was  the  first  time  for 
many  months  so  many  as  five  had  gathered  at  the 
table.  While  the  servants  were  present  they  talked 
of  the  things  which  did  not  matter.  Evelyn  sat  like  a 
beautiful  ghost.  Bereavement  enhanced  her  attrac- 
tiveness. Her  father's  eyes  strayed  every  now  and 
then  in  her  direction,  but  he  might  have  been  in 
London  for  all  the  notice  she  took  of  him.  He  was 
deeply  sorry  for  her;  he  wanted  to  say  so,  but  she 
gave  him  no  chance  at  all.  She  sat  like  the  personifi- 
cation of  all  the  pain  munitions  had  brought  to  the 
lovers  of  men  slain  in  their  strength. 

"I  thought  Fred  looked  very  well  when  I  saw  him 
off,"  he  said.  "He's  grown  into  a  fine  fellow.  Did 
you  see  him,  Ellen?" 

"Yes,  he  was  here  for  a  day  and  a  night,"  she 
replied. 

"Alfred,  I  feel  sure  he  didn't  want  to  go,"  Lady 
Horton-Birkett  said.  "I  was  not  deceived  by  his 
bearing.  What  do  you  think,  Ed?" 


250  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"He  was  very  brave  about  it,  mater." 

"Poor  boy,"  Ellen  sighed. 

The  dreary  meal  ended,  they  hastened  away  from 
the  servants  and  found  seclusion  in  the  billiard 
room  before  the  fire.  For  a  long  time  they  sat  in 
silence  not  knowing  how  to  begin  the  discussion 
of  all  the  vital  matters  which  had  occupied  their 
thoughts.  Now  they  had  their  father  in  their  midst 
they  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  him.  It  seemed 
so  easy  to  write  him,  but  now  far  from  easy  to  talk 
to  him.  Ed  thought  of  a  dozen  ways  of  making  a 
start,  none  however  seemed  kindly.  At  last  he  began, 
"Thought  any  more  of  that  matter?" 

"What  matter,  Ed?" 

"About  giving  up  the  business." 

"Oh!    That,  eh?    Y-e-s,  a  good  deal." 

"Well?" 

"Can't  see  how  it  can  be  done.  Very  difficult,  my 
boy.  It's  the  system.  And — really !  I'm  a  victim  of 
the  system — " 

"We're  all  that — victims  of  the  system — " 

"What  is  God  doing — the  dissenter's  God — can't 
He  help  you?"  Ellen  asked.  "Surely  He  has  not 
deserted  you,  has  He?" 

"Ellen,  I  don't  like  such  levity.  It  is  not  becom- 
ing," her  father  said,  brushing  the  cigar  ash  off  his 
trousers. 

"Not  becoming?  What  do  you  mean,  dad?  Have 
you  turned  your  countenance  away  from  Him?  I 
thought  you  had  the  greatest  confidence — " 

"I  have.    I  have.    But—" 

"Yes,  dad,  go  on." 

"It's  no  use,"  he  muttered. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  251 

He  shook  his  head  gravely  and  laid  his  cigar 
aside. 

"Alfred,  I  do  wish  you  would  give  it  up,"  his 
wife  said.  "You  must,  really.  Think  of  Evelyn- 
Fred! — Robert!  It  is  so  awful.  I  can't  sleep  think- 
ing about  it.  It  is  so  horrible,  the  idea  that  your 
shells  might — " 

"Might?"  Ellen  echoed. 

There  was  a  tense  silence.  Each  buried  in  thought, 
so  lively  indeed  that  their  minds  transmitted  the  hid- 
den sentence  to  Sir  Alfred  in  unmistakable  terms. 
He  raised  himself  by  taking  hold  of  the  arms  of  the 
chair,  he  leaned  forward,  and  looked  earnestly  at  each 
of  their  faces. 

"You  don't  mean—?"  he  blurted. 

"We  think,  dear,  one  of  your  shells  perhaps  blew 
Herbert  to  pieces,"  his  wife  said. 

"Nonsense!"  he  cried,  and  stood  over  them  shak- 
ing with  fierce  indignation.  The  horrifying  thought 
angered  him  intensely. 

"How  can  you  think  such  a  thing?" 

"What  do  you  make  the  shells  for?"  Ellen  asked 
quietly,  laying  stress  on  the  for. 

"Isn't  it  best — or  better — to  be  quite  certain  about 
it?"  Ed  muttered.  "Besides  your  German  firm — " 

"My  German  firm.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  any 
German  firm.  That  is  no  part  of  our  business  now. 
The  war  has  changed  all  that.  It  has  severed  all 
connection — " 

"Your  patents  are  used — " 

"Stolen—" 

"Dad,  dad,"  Ed  remonstrated  testily. 

"Well— I— I  mean—" 


252  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"We  know  what  you  mean,"  Ellen  said.  "For 
the  time  being  relations  are  broken  off,  but  only  for 
the  period  of  the  war.  When  it  is  over  the  German 
house  will  have  to  account  to  you  for  the  whole  busi- 
ness done  during  the  war.  That's  what  you  mean." 

"Give  it  up,  Alfred,"  his  wife  cried.  "Oh,  give 
it  up.  Suppose  Fred  is  killed.  Have  you  no  sense 
of — "  She  broke  down  and  wept  bitterly. 

But  no  one  heeded  her.  Tears  in  that  house  were 
now  part  of  the  day's  pain. 

"You're  all  against  me/'  he  said  hoarsely.  "All 
against  me.  You  don't — none  of  you — appreciate 
all  my  difficulties — all  my  terrible  anxieties.  Public 
opinion ! — you  haven't  the  faintest  conception  of  what 
that  means  to  a  man  in  my  position — not  the  faintest. 
The  Government — there  again !  What  about  the  Gov- 
ernment? It  never  leaves  me  alone.  I  have  to  do 
what  I  am  told.  Then  the  country — I  must  be  patri- 
otic. I  must  do  my  duty.  How  can  I  leave  the 
country  in  the  lurch  in  a  time  like  this?  It  is  all 
very  well  for  you" — he  swept  his  arm  over  them — 
"to  sit  down  here  far  removed  from  the  life  I  lead 
in  town  and  think  of  what  I  ought  to  do.  Never 
mind,  it  is  not  to  be  expected  you  should  know  my 
'difficulties.  But  it  does  seem  to  me  like  ingratitude 
after  all  I've  done  for  you." 

"It  does,  dad,"  Ed  said  quickly.  "You're  quite 
right  there.  It  does  seem  like  ingratitude.  I  admit 
it — frankly.  But  we  are  grown  up  now  and  must 
judge  for  ourselves.  Some  of  us  never  had  a  serious 
thought  until  a  few  months  ago.  I  know  I  didn't. 
I  accepted  everything  without  a  word.  That  was 
because  I  had  never  been  trained  to  think." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  253 

"You  went  to  far  better  schools  than  I." 

"I  don't  think  so.  I  went  to  schools  where  thought 
was  for  teachers,  not  for  scholars.  A  rotten  system, 
I  call  it,  that  sends  lads  out  without — excuse  the 
word — a  fundamental.  We  have  been  reared  at  snob 
schools  to  exist  in  a  snob  world.  I  can't  think  of  a 
blessed  thing  I  learned  at  school  that  can  hold  me 
up  in  face  of  a  great  crisis — a  difficulty  in  which  the 
soul  must  dominate.  I'm  preaching  now,  but  I  don't 
mean  to.  It's  because  I  can't  express  myself  clearly. 
I  wasn't  taught  to.  And  soldiering  is  not  the  work 
for  that  kind  of  thing." 

"I  didn't  want  you  to  be  a  soldier,"  his  father 
.snapped. 

"I  know.  I  know  that.  But  what  else  was  there 
for  me  or  for  Robert  ?  Our  education  pushed  us  that 
way  to  improve  our  social  position.  The  army  is 
the  only  way  for  sons  of  rich  plebs  to  get  into  the 
swim.  The  army  and  the  Church.  Look  at  Harold. 
Is  he  any  better  than  I  am?  You  know  you're  just 
about  as  proud  of  him  as  I  am  of  myself.  Just  para- 
sites. That's  what  we  are.  Not  one  of  us  has  an 
honest  man's  trade.  We  produce  nothing,  indus- 
trially or  artistically.  Art!  The  school  system  is 
Enough  to  kill  any  desire  for  art." 

"And,  dad,  what  has  been  the  good  of  coming 
'down  here,  and  setting  up  in  squire  business?"  Ellen 
asked.  "You  haven't  got  in  with  the  county  families. 
They  dislike  you  now  as  heartily  as  they  did  when 
you  bought  the  place.  After  all  these  years  you  are 
still  an  outsider." 

Stung  to  the  quick  he  rose  and  clenched  his  hands 
before  him. 


254  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"I  never  wanted  them.  I  loathe  them  all,"  he 
cried.  "They're  nothing  but  a  gang  of  sycophants 
ready  to  use  you  for  what  they  can  get." 

"Not  all,  Alfred,"  his  wife  interposed.    "Not  all." 

"Most  of  them.  It's  your  lot,  too.  It  was  your 
idea.  You  were  the  one  to  cringe  before  them — " 

"Cringe!  Never!"  she  said  with  spirit.  "All  I 
wished  was  a  chance  in  good  society  for  my  children." 

"In  good  society,"  he  sneered.  "The  betrayers  of 
the  country.  Look  at  them!  With  their  houses  and 
parks,  insanitary  cottages  and  mortgaged  palaces, 
half-starved  peasants  and  over-gorged  pheasants, 
their  idleness,  and  the  laborers'  toil.  Have  they 
changed  in  character?  Are  they  not  the  same  stock 
that  bled  the  country  white  a  century  ago?" 

"That's  a  bit  sweeping,"  Ed  said. 

"Read  Byron,  and  Shelley,  and — what's  his  name? 
Sweeping!  You  read  them." 

"The  radical  is  not  quite  dead,  after  all,"  Ellen  said. 

"But  why  try  to  imitate  them,  dad?"  Ed  asked. 
"Set  them  an  example.  The  Small  Holding  Act  is  a 
fizzle  here  as  you  know.  Why  not  divide  up  the 
whole  estate  into  five,  ten  and  twenty  acre  places, 
build  houses  and  let  the  people  in  at  fair  rents  ?  I've 
figured  out  the  whole  thing." 

"That  would  be  a  very  serious  step  to  take,"  his 
father  said  emphatically.  "It  would  cost  an  enor- 
mous sum." 

"Where  would  you  get  the  men  from,  Ed  ?"  Evelyn 
asked. 

"Yes.  There!  You  see  how  impractical  you 
are!"  his  father  exclaimed. 

"Men  over  fifty  could  be  found.     And,  dad,  it 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  255 

wouldn't  cost  as  much  as  you  will  make  on  this 
war.  Would  it?  Fifty  houses  for  small  holders." 

"Dad,  do  think  of  it,"  Lady  Horton-Birkett  pleaded. 
"Say  you're  ill.  Stay  down  here  altogether.  Keep 
away  from  London.  But  give  up  the  business.  Any 
excuse  will  do.  I  am  sure  the  money  will  be  a  curse 
to  us.  In  a  way  it  has  been  already.  We  are  all 
disunited.  Do  give  it  up." 

"Well,  Evie,  I've  been  thinking  it  over  a  good  deal 
since  I  was  down  here  talking  to  Ed,"  her  husband 
said.  "I  shall  never  have  a  better  chance  of  getting  out." 

They  drew  up  their  chairs  and  narrowed  the  circle. 

"You  see  the  market  is  high — inflated,  in  fact.  It 
is  just  the  time  to  realize.  I  might  off  load  a  big 
parcel — " 

"Good!"  Ed  exclaimed. 

"But  wouldn't  that  make  every  buyer  of  shares  an 
extra  person  interested  in  the  sale  of  shells?"  Ellen 
asked. 

"Of  course  it  would,"  her  father  cried,  throwing 
Ed  a  glance  of  scorn. 

"Never  mind.  Never  mind,"  his  wife  said.  "Get 
rid  of  them  anyway." 

"But  would  it  be  wise  to  let  the  small  folk  get 
their  fingers  into  that  pie?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  do  it  that  way,"  Ed  said. 
"Put  all  the  money  into  benefits  for  those  who  have 
suffered.  I've  thought  it  out.  You  can't  withdraw 
your  patents,  but  you  can  decline  to  take  any  more 
profit.  You  must  do  what  the  Government  demands 
as  long  as  you  are  the  head  of  the  business,  but  the 
Government  can't  make  you  hold  on  if  you  really  wish 
to  withdraw.  Do  you  really  wish  to  give  it  up?" 


256  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"I  want  a  rest  badly/' 

"Come  down  here  and  we'll  look  after  you,  Al- 
fred," his  wife  said.  "Come  down  and  try  to  under- 
stand our  point  of  view." 

I  will.     I'll  attend  to  it  on  Monday  when  I  get 
to  town.    There  is  a  board  meeting  next  week." 

He  took  his  wife's  hands,  raised  her  up  and  kissed 
her. 

"Cricket,  darling,"  her  mother  called,  "be  kind. 
Say  something.  Dad  will  give  it  up." 

Evelyn  went  to  him  and  touched  his  cheek.  He 
shrank  from  her  lips  as  if  he  had  been  touched  by  ice. 

"It  was  your  shells,  dad,  that  did  for  Herbert," 
she  sighed.  "I  can  tell  that  from  Adorable's  letter. 
She  is  bitter — bitter.  If  you  would  only  feel  that 
some  German  boy — like  Fred — " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  choked  by  a  great  sob,  and 
rushed  out  of  the  room. 

Ed  took  Ellen  home.  Harry  was  busy  on  the 
plans  of  houses  and  outbuildings  for  small  holders. 
He  and  Ed  had  been  at  work  for  some  weeks  on 
the  plan  of  breaking  up  the  estate,  in  the  way  he 
had  suggested  to  his  father. 

"Our  scheme  may  come  off,"  Ed  said,  looking 
over  Harry's  shoulder. 

"I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  see  it  through." 

"Well,  my  father  may  do  it." 

"I  don't  mean  that.  I  went  into  Minsterley  to-day 
to  get  some  materials — some  special  pens  for  this 
kind  of  work,  and  a  friend  told  me  he  had  heard  on 
excellent  authority  that  the  authorities  are  preparing 
to  start  conscripting  unmarried  men." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  257, 

"No!" 

"He  says  his  information  is  correct." 

"There'll  be  revolution,"  Ellen  muttered.  "Did 
you  ask  about  Ben?" 

"He  is  quite  well.  Our  friend  says  he  will  be 
released  in  about  ten  days — " 

"Ten  days,"  she  cried. 

"His  sentence  has  been  commuted  considerably," 
Harry  explained.  "Albert  Henry  Vaughan  is  dead." 

"My  little  Tommy,"  Ed  murmured,  remembering 
the  journey  from  town  when  he  came  back  wounded 
to  Crowington  and  was  assisted  by  Albert  Henry. 

"Yes,  died  of  wounds,"  Harry  said.  "Mrs. 
Vaughan  is  very  lonely.  Minsterley  is  an  awful 
place  these  days.  Women  and  old  men.  There 
seems  to  be  no  youth  in  the  town.  It  looks  grayer 
than  ever.  Just  young  women,  numbers  of  them, 
and  grave-looking  males  past  middle  life.  I  met 
the  recruiting  officer  who  had  Ben  arrested.  He 
asked  kindly  after  you,  Ellen.  Poor  fellow,  he  felt 
that  keenly." 

Ed  stayed  for  a  long  time  discussing  the  plans 
with  Harry.  Lizzie  got  sandwiches  and  hot  milk 
for  them.  Harry  was  a  deep  well  of  information 
from  which  Ed  drew  copious  drafts.  He  was  really 
the  first  well-informed  man  he  had  been  in  touch 
with  closely.  Already  he  had  introduced  Ed  to  Para- 
celsus, his  first  experience  in  Browning,  to  Hardy's 
Jude,  and  Tess,  to  the  Bible,  for  Ed  knew  next  to 
nothing  about  it,  and  then  to  the  book  which  gripped 
Ed  as  none  other  did,  George's  Progress  and  Poverty. 
This  work  made  Ed  understand  Tolstoy's  Resurrec- 
tion. 


CHAPTER  XX 

IT  was  no  easy  task  Ed  set  himself  when  he  de- 
cided to  test  Clarice  by  telling  her  he  meant  to 
give  up  all  claim  to  his  father's  estate.  Since  the 
night  of  their  reunion  he  found  his  love  for  her  grow 
deeper  and  stronger.  Was  she  so  wedded  to  an 
existence  of  luxury  and  ease  that  a  complete  change 
in  living,  such  as  Ed  contemplated,  would  affect  her 
love  for  him?  Would  he  lose  her?  These  questions 
harassed  him  daily.  She  had  eighty  thousand 
pounds  of  her  own,  and  her  mother  had  taken  over 
Clungford,  not  a  very  large  estate,  when  Billy  had 
to  settle  up  for  his  expensive  youthful  pleasures.  It 
seemed  so  selfish  to  Ed  for  him  to  want  her  to 
throw  in  her  lot  with  his  when  he  was  fixed  in  his 
determination  to  make  his  own  living  and  keep  his 
expenses  within  his  income.  Yet  there  was  some- 
thing strong  in  Clarice  which  made  him  eager  to 
lay  the  new  scheme  before  her,  something  virile 
which  tempted  him  to  test  her  in  a  big  way. 

They  were  returning  from  the  sale  of  some  of 
Herbert's  horses,  when  Ed  said:  "How  would  you 
like  to  run  a  little  stock  farm,  beginning  with 
hunters?" 

"Wouldn't  it  be  ripping,"  she  said. 

"You  think  so?" 

"Indeed  I  do.  I've  been  wondering  for  weeks 
what  I  could  do  to  make  a  living — " 

"What?    You?" 

258 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  259 

"Yes.  Do  you  think  Ellen  is  the  only  one  wKo 
dare  think  of  earning  her  own  living?  Listen,  Ed! 
Ever  since  Ellen  told  me  about  her  life  I've  been 
mad  to  do  something  for  myself." 

"Splendid." 

"Won't  we  all  have  to  buckle  to  when  the  war's 
over  and  give  up  the  other  life?  Living  well  and 
doing  ill?" 

"Old  girl— that's  fine." 

Then  he  unfolded  his  plan.  And  as  he  went  into 
the  detail  of  starting  a  stud  farm  she  saw  how  it 
could  be  done  on  a  larger  scale.  Her  eighty  thou- 
sand pounds  was  enough  to  buy  Wilmslow  Lodge 
and  stock  it.  Herbert's  champion  hunter  was  young, 
only  six  years  old;  they  would  have  him  valued  and 
buy  him  from  Evelyn.  As  fine  a  sire  to  be  found  in 
the  country;  fit  for  any  stud  farm.  Ed  did  not  like 
the  idea  of  using  any  of  her  money,  but  she  was 
firm  and  wore  his  objections  down. 

"Why  can't  husband  and  wife  be  partners,  I  should 
like  to  know?"  she  said.  "You  have  the  knowledge, 
Ed,  and  I  have  the  money.  We  shall  both  have  to 
work.  You  will  have  to  run  the  whole  thing  and 
make  it  a  success." 

"But  if  it  should  fail  and  T  lost  your  money?" 

"Well  if  it  did?  That  would  be  my  affair,  wouldn't 
it?  Anyway,  I  want  Wilmslow  Lodge  if  Cricket  will 
let  us  have  it — " 

"I'm  afraid  she  won't  sell,  but  she'll  let  it  to  us." 

"Herbert  has  left  her  all  his  English  interests?" 

"He  settled  everything  here  on  her  when  they  were 
engaged.  About  five  thousand  pounds  a  year  it  comes 
to,  and  Wilmslow.  Now,  old  girl,  I  shall  have 


260  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

nothing  but  about  one  thousand  pounds  a  year  to 
fall  back  on.  You  know  I'm  not  going  to  touch 
dad's  money." 

"Ellen  told  me  all  about  that.  So  you  have  de- 
cided to  take  half  of  Haugmond  from  Cricket?" 

"Not  unless  I  fail.  That  is  something  to  fall 
back  on." 

When  they  told  Lady  Clungford  of  their  plans  she 
was  as  keen,  enthusiastic,  as  they  were  themselves. 

"Lord,  it  is  good  to  hear  of  some  one  wishing  to 
produce  something  of  use.  I  don't  know  of  a  blessed 
thing  in  my  life  worth  recording,  outside  the  mere 
domestic  habits  of  the  wife  and  the  mother.  Things 
every  woman  is  supposed  to  do  because  she  is  a 
woman.  The  sheep-like  virtues  of  our  sex.  That's 
right,  Clarice,  make  up  your  mind  to  live.  After 
this  war  there'll  be  a  big  change  in  the  affairs  of 
lots  of  us  loafers.  Look  at  this  income  tax  assess- 
ment I've  just  received.  And  the  prime  minister 
says  we  may  have  half  our  incomes  taken  from  us 
before  it's  over.  Well,  good  luck  to  you  both.  If 
Ed  can't  make  a  success  of  a  stud  farm  I  don't 
know  who  can." 

They  were  married  in  Edinburgh  and  spent  a  fort- 
night in  the  Western  Highlands.  Each  day  they 
worked  for  several  hours  on  the  plans  of  the  farm. 
Their  recreation  was  walking,  long  tramps  in  the 
moldering  paths  of  the  autumn  scented  hills,  look- 
ing down  on  tranquil  lochs  mirroring  the  gray  trunks 
of  beeches  and  the  fluttering  leaves  falling  from 
boughs  growing  bare.  The  weather  was  soft  and 
calm  under  clear  blue  skies,  and  the  smoke  of  forest 
fires  rose  in  straight  spires  in  the  stilly  air.  In  these 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  261 

journeyings  Clarice  sounded  the  depth  of  his  under- 
standing. What  a  change  had  been  wrought  in  him ! 
It  was  like  as  if  she  had  never  known  him  before 
the  night  of  the  recruiting  meeting.  They  talked 
of  men  and  their  books,  of  life  and  conditions  of 
people,  of  striving  and  doing,  of  learning  how  to  live 
industriously.  It  was  Ellen,  it  was  Harry  Tonks, 
sometimes  it  was  Ben,  who  set  him  to  work  to  use 
his  mind.  That  mind  which  was  never  taught  to 
express  itself,  never  to  think  for  itself.  The  day 
he  told  her  of  Harry  Tonks,  Clarice  saw  deep  down 
in  Ed  the  real  man  that  had  been  suppressed  by  class 
education.  There  was  something  fine  in  his  appre- 
ciation of  Harry.  Educated  at  the  village  school,  and 
what  a  school!  He  worked  by  himself  at  home  at 
night  and  fitted  himself  for  the  larger  scheme  of  a 
technical  course  in  Manchester.  There  he  got  a  job 
in  an  architect's  office  at  fourteen  shillings  a  week 
while  he  studied  the  classics.  For  five  years  he 
worked  at  Greek  and  Latin,  German  and  French. 
"My  last  year  at  Sandington  cost  more  money 
than  was  spent  on  the  whole  of  Harry's  education," 
he  said.  "He  knows  the  economists  and  the  his- 
torians, and  I  doubt  whether  all  my  tutors  knew  a 
fraction  of  what  Harry  knows  in  economics  and 
history.  Better  class  education  is  an  imposition 
which  only  an  uneducated  class  would  tolerate.  Take 
the  Bible.  For  years  I  thought  it  was  priggish  to 
talk  about  it.  Where  I  got  the  idea  from,  heaven 
only  knows.  Anyway,  I  knew  nothing  about  it  until 
Harry  Tonks  brought  it  out  to  tell  me  where  I 
could  find  a  true  and  full  idea  of  what  life  should 
be.  There  is  to  be  found  the  great  cry  for  justice, 


262  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

and  it  does  not  shirk  a  definition  of  justice.  Harry 
taught  me  that.  Some  day  I  will  get  him  to  give  you 
his  conception  of  Jesus.  Funny,  isn't  it,  we  should 
talk  about  these  things?" 

"It  sounds  very  strange,  Ed,"  she  murmured. 

"Doesn't  it?  Like  talking  about  another  world. 
I  wonder  why  it  is  we  have  that  feeling  that  the 
Bible  is  taboo  in  good  society.  Seems  to  me  we 
daren't  face  it.  A  line  of  no  compromise  is  against 
the  so-called  genius  of  our  people.  All  or  nothing 
sounds  like  rank  anarchy,  and  a  society  which  makes 
laws  and  observes  only  its  own  order  will  not  accept 
any  infringement  of  its  comfort  and  privilege." 

In  the  quiet  evenings  he*  read  to  her.  He  had 
taken  with  him  his  copies  of  Paracelsus,  The  Kingdom 
of  God  is  Within  You,  and  Progress  and  Poverty. 
It  was  a  strange  honeymoon,  but  one  Clarice  would 
not  have  exchanged  for  the  most  romantic  one  she 
ever  heard  about.  His  deep  seriousness  and  great 
strength  of  purpose  inspired  her. 

"You  make  me  feel  I  want  to  read  all  these  books, 
but  I'm  afraid  I'm  too  much  of  a  dunce  to  get  out 
of  them  what  you  have,"  she  said.  "You  must  be 
a  Harry  Tonks  to  me,  Ed." 

"If  I  could  only  be  a  Harry  Tonks!"  He  smiled 
and  shook  his  head.  Such  an  aspiration  was  be- 
yond his  capacity  he  thought.  "It's  too  late  for  me 
to  go  through  the  mill.  It's  what  you  learn  in  the 
struggle  for  a  cultivated  existence  which  does  the 
trick,  old  girl.  It  gives  you  so  much — thoughtfulness, 
kindliness  and  breadth  of  view.  These  things  are 
essential  if  you  wish  to  live  with  sense  and  under- 
standing. You  know,  Qarice,  I  never  realized  that 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  263 

laborers  and  cottagers  were  human  beings  until  a 
few  months  ago.  Then  I  got  to  know  what  their 
lives  were  and  tried  to  put  myself  in  the  place  of 
a  man  with  a  family  on  sixteen  shillings  a  week  for 
twelve  hours'  labor  a  day,  in  a  cottage  of  three 
rooms,  with  unsanitary  conditions,  and  all  herded 
together  in  unhealthy  places.  Why,  I  couldn't  do 
it.  It  would  kill  me.  And  yet  these  are  the  people 
whose  labor  keeps  us  in  idleness." 

They  passed  through  Glasgow  on  their  way  back 
home.  There  they  found  a  grave  state  of  affairs. 
There  were  many  strikes,  the  most  serious  being  a 
rent  strike.  Hundreds  of  women  and  children 
marched  in  processions  through  the  streets  in  protest 
against  the  landlords  who  were  raising  rents  in  the 
poorest  districts.  Some  of  the  placards  carried  in 
the  processions  bore  humiliating  texts: 

WHILE  MY  FATHER  IS  A  PRISONER  IN 
GERMANY  THE  LANDLORD!  IS  ATTACKING 
OUR  HOME. 

Another  read: 

OUR  HUSBANDS  SONS  AND  BROTHERS 
ARE  FIGHTING  THE  PRUSSIANS  IN  GER- 
MANY. WE  ARE  FIGHTING  THE  PRUSSIANS 
OF  PARTICK. 

The  sight  of  the  denizens  of  the  one-room-and- 
kitchen  dwellings  of  Glasgow  shocked  Clarice  as  no 
amount  of  reading  possibly  could.  She  burned  with 
indignation  as  she  watched  the  procession  pass. 

"I  must  see  for  myself  where  these  people  live.  It 
is  shameful," 


264  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Ed  took  her  to  the  four-  or  five-story  tenement 
blocks,  entered  by  a  close,  in  a  great  congested  dis- 
trict where  the  mass  of  workers  lived.  An  energetic 
woman  of  some  social  service  organization  led  them 
through  the  labyrinths.  The  children!  The  utter 
degradation  of  it  all!  Clarice  could  scarcely  believe 
what  she  saw.  Her  anger  wore  her  out,  and  when 
Ed  got  her  back  to  the  hotel  she  was  extremely 
tired  and  sad. 

"Yes,  old  girl,  there  is  the  real  problem,"  Ed  said. 
"And  we  can  spend  nearly  two  thousand  millions  on 
trying  to  put  Germany  right  on  treaties,  militarism 
and  godlessness!  It's  grotesque,  perfectly  grotesque, 
isn't  it?" 

"What  is  to  be  done  ?"  -she  asked. 

"I  don't  know  quite.  Tolstoy  says,  'Seek  ye  first 
the  Kingdom  of  God  and  its  justice.'  Justice  is  the 
first  step  to  be  taken." 

"Ed,  we  must  do  something.  We  must  never  go 
back  to  the  old  life.  If  you  ever  find  me  slipping, 
falling  back,  you  know,  forgetting,  you  will  make  me 
keep  straight,  won't  you?" 

"And  you,  Clarice,  you'll  watch  me,  too.  Keep 
me  up  to  the  mark?" 

The  weekly  reviews  read  on  the  journey  back  to 
Clungford  told  them  Britain  had  fallen  on  evil  days. 
The  conditions  at  home  were  most  discouraging. 
One  set  of  papers  bitterly  opposed  the  agitation  for 
conscription,  in  another  paper  one  set  of  politicians 
warred  openly  against  another  set;  the  Government 
was  fiercely  assailed  for  its  conduct  of  the  war;  the 
Dardanelles  was  a  hopeless,  fruitless  task  and  the 
Government  was  urged  to  give  it  up  before  worse 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  265 

disaster  followed  rash  cruel  blunders.  '  Generals  at 
the  front  were  made  the  targets  of  departmental 
incompetence;  and  the  people  were  torn  with  dissen- 
sion. The  Munitions  Act  was  severely  criticized  in 
many  quarters,  its  administration  condemned;  and 
the  Defense  of  the  Realm  Act  was  used  to  oppress 
the  poor  while  it  permitted  the  rich  to  defy  its  pro- 
visions. The  outlook  was  black.  And  the  cry  of 
"more  blood,  more  blood,"  was  the  only  call  which 
seemed  to  have  the  ring  of  unanimity  in  it. 

An  article  in  one  of  the  reviews  staggered  Clarice's 
sense  of  fairness.  She  read  it  to  Ed: 

"It  is  high  time  some  organization  should  take  in 
hand  the  defense  of  persons  charged  under  the  De- 
fense of  the  Realm  Act.  Last  Saturday,  at  Black- 
pool, a  commercial  traveler  was  fined  one  hundred 
pounds  or  three  months'  imprisonment,  for  having 
said  something  in  casual  conversation  in  a  railway 
carriage  alleged  to  be  'likely  to  cause  disaffection* 
and  'likely  to  prejudice  recruiting/  As  the  trial  was 
in  camera,  we  do  not  know  what  were  the  terrible 
words  that  were  uttered  or  how  they  came  to  be  re- 
ported. But  it  opens  up  a  vista!  We  have  all  heard 
things  said  in  railway  carriages  and  also  in  club 
smoking-rooms,  'likely  to  cause  disaffection,'  and 
these  may  now,  it  seems,  be  reported,  without  being 
taken  down  in  shorthand,  to  'the  competent  military 
authority';  with  the  result,  if  the  culprit  is  poor  and 
friendless,  of  a  summary  conviction  by  any  two 
Justices  of  the  Peace  and  a  vindictive  sentence.  The 
public  is  not  at  all  aware  of  the  number  of  prose- 
cutions and  convictions  of  this  sort  that  are  taking 
place.  Some  repressive  action  of  the  kind  may  well 
be  necessary,  but  it  is  significant  that  it  is  only 
'little'  people  against  whom  proceedings  are  taken." 

"Ed,  that  is  monstrous." 


266  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"It  is  war.  Ministers  must  not  be  criticized  by 
the  little  people  who  find  the  money  and  feed  the 
cannon.  Western  civilization  must  be  maintained, 
and  liberty  secured  though  the  Continent  be  engulfed 
in  blood." 

While  they  waited  in  Liverpool  for  the  artificial 
part  of  Ed's  right  hand  to  be  fitted,  they  saw  a  ship- 
load of  men  leave  the  landing-stage.  Ed  did  not 
know  where  they  were  going,  but  he  knew  what 
they  would  see.  From  the  dock  wall  they  watched 
the  companies  of  young,  rather  immature-looking 
lads,  march  down  the  gangways.  Their  faces  gave 
the  lie  to  their  expressions  of  gaiety  shouted  to 
friends  in  the  crowds  who  lined  the  roads.  Some 
whispered  they  were  off  to  the  Dardanelles,  some  said 
.Greece  was  their  destination. 

A  rough,  seamy-looking  fellow  on  the  curb  caught 
sight  of  an  acquaintance  and  called  out;  '"Ey, 
'Orace,  where  to,  me  'earty?" 

"Somewhere  in  'ell,  I  s'pecs,"  was  the  reply  from 
the  soldier  who  immediately  started  to  sing  Land  of 
Hope  and  Glory. 

"Let  us  go  back,  Ed,"  Qarice  said  sadly. 

They  reached  Clungford  the  next  evening.  There 
Ed  found  a  note  from  his  mother  asking  him  to 
run  over  to  Crowington  to  see  her.  He  knew  she 
had  bad  news.  His  mother  seldom  wrote  to  him, 
but  when  she  did  the  letter  was  usually  long  and 
chatty.  This  note  was  brief  and  contained  no  expres- 
sion on  his  home-coming  or  reference  to  the  honey- 
moon. After  dinner  he  and  Clarice  drove  over  to 
see  her.  The  news  was  only  a  day  old.  That  morn- 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  267 

ing  Sir  Alfred  had  written  saying  he  had  been  in- 
formed by  the  War  Office  that  Fred  was  in  the  list 
of  missing. 

Ben  was  released  and  back  again  in  the  village. 
He  seemed  physically  none  the  worse  for  his  im- 
prisonment. Mentally,  however,  he  came  back  more 
strongly  determined  to  oppose  compulsory  recruiting 
and  the  cruelties  of  vindictive  magistrates  exercising 
the  powers  of  the  Defense  of  the  Realm  Act.  Harry 
had  been  persistently  persecuted  since  Ed  had  been 
away.  Letters  now  came  to  him  daily  from  men 
who  acted  blindly,  asking  him  to  consider  his  duty. 
The  crass  impertinence  of  any  "competent  military 
authority"  or  "civil  or  clerical  recruiting  agent"  ask- 
ing Harry  Tonks  of  all  people  to  consider  his  duty 
struck  Ed  as  one  of  the  sublime  features  of  a  country 
going  raving  mad.  Ed's  interest  in  his  friend  was 
so  deep  he  found  no  excuse  for  the  writers  of  letters 
who  had  no  time  to  consider  the  sensibilities  of  indi- 
viduals. 

"What  does  it  matter,  Ed?"  he  said,  "as  long  as 
I'm  not  afraid  of  myself — but  I  shall  not  give  way. 
After  all,  if  thy  hand  offend  thee  cut  it  off.  I  don't 
believe  in  self-mutilation,  but  anything  is  preferable 
to  wilful  mutilation  of  others." 

"There'll  be  more  of  that,"  Ben  said,  "if  they  start 
to  put  their  cowardly  threats  into  action.  Read  that 
letter  you  received  from  James  Packard  and  let  Ed 
know  to  what  depths  they  can  descend." 

Harry  took  a  letter  from  his  desk.  It  was  from 
a  well-known  non-conformist  minister  in  a  northern 


268  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

town,  a  man  who  had  been  publicly  recognized  for 
some  years  as  a  leading  pacifist.  He  was  married 
and  had  a  family. 

"Packard  writes/'  Harry  began,  turning  over  the 
pages  of  the  letter:  '"It  is  conceivably  possible  that 
some  of  us  who  have  tried  to  keep  loyal  to  our  con- 
sciences and  the  cause  of  peace  may  before  long 
find  ourselves  hounded  from  our  pulpits  and  our 
families.  Incidentally,  it  appears  that  some  ministers 
of  religion  are  not  to  be^  counted,  because  of  their 
profession,  exempt  from  military  service.  One  hun- 
dred years  ago  they  emptied  the  prisons  to  find  sol- 
diers, now —  Anyway  I  myself  have  received  letters 
from  a  recruiting  peer  asking  me  to  consider  my 
duty,  and  I  shall  presumably  be  canvassed  with  the 
rest  and  invited  to  enlist.  But,  as  you  may  guess, 
my  attitude  is  fatally  and  irrevocably  fixed.  I  simply 
will  not  be  compelled  in  any  way  to  do  what  I  have 
not  seen  it  for  myself  to  be  my  duty  to  do,  and  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  the  compulsionists  may  do 
their  worst.'" 

"Nice,  isn't  it?"  Ben  mumbled. 

"There  may  be  a  lot  of  shooting  done  at  home 
before  long,"  Harry  remarked. 

Ed  could  find  nothing  to  say;  he  was  humbled, 
shocked  beyond  expression. 

"The  Government  is  finding  it  difficult  enough  to 
cope  with  the  problem  of  self-mutilation,"  Ben  ob- 
served. "Four  men  were  tried  for  it  the  other  day 
at  Mancaster.  We  haven't  any  idea  of  the  extent  it 
is  done.  They  keep  all  that  out  of  the  papers.  But 
we  get  some  information  through  one  or  two  non- 
resistance  societies." 


v  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  269 

* 

It  was  in  the  ensuing  weeks  Harry  found  him- 
self the  target  of  almost  insupportable  persecution. 
Every  day  anonymous  letters  containing  white 
feathers  and  scurrilous  epithets  reached  him.  He 
was  assiduously  canvassed  and  openly  insulted.  One 
day  he  was  overtaken  on  the  road  and  badgered  by 
a  neighboring  squire  who,  in  lieu  of  argument,  spat 
at  him  from  his  motor  and  then  drove  off  at  a 
rapid  pace.  Harry  told  Ed  about  the  incident  when 
he  reached  Clungford. 

That  was  the  day  before  Harry  disappeared. 
Lizzie  said  he  ate  his  breakfast,  read  his  letters, 
looked  at  the  morning  paper  and  went  out  for  a 
walk.  That  was  all  she  knew  about  him.  Several 
days  passed  by  and  no  word  came  to  Crowington. 
But  letters  for  him  came  regularly,  and  twice  re- 
cruiting officers  called.  Ben  thought  he  had  gone 
back  again  to  work  at  the  hospitals  in  Manchester. 
A  fortnight  passed  and  Harry  did  not  return,  and 
no  word  came  from  him.  Ed  was  sorely  troubled, 
and  Ellen  was  afraid  something  very  serious  had 
happened  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

BEN  was  back  in  London  working  on  his  paper 
when  he  was  called  up  by  telephone  to  speak 
to  Sir  Alfred.  He  wished  to  have  a  chat  with  him 
and  asked  if  Ben  would  dine  that  night  at  the  club 
in  Pall  Mall.  Ben  thought  it  was  a  strange  place 
to  ask  him,  a  prison  bird,  to  visit.  He,  however, 
accepted  the  invitation  and  promised  to  meet  Sir 
Alfred  there  at  eight  o'clock.  Later  in  the  after- 
noon there  came  a  telegram  changing  the  place  of 
meeting  to  a  restaurant  in  Soho.  Ben  smiled,  know- 
ing Sir  Alfred  had  reconsidered  the  matter  for  expe- 
dient reasons,  and  replied  confirming  the  new  place 
of  meeting. 

"Been  back  in  London  long?"  Sir  Alfred  asked, 
when  they  were  seated. 

"About  a  week." 

"How  is  Ellen?" 

"Very  well — quite  happy." 

"Good — very  good.     No  news  of  your  brother?" 

"None  whatever." 

"Strange— isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

They  ate  in  silence  for  some  time.  The  restaurant 
was  not  crowded,  and  the  people  were  strangely  sub- 
dued. The  lights  were  low  and  the  orchestra  gone. 
The  life  of  the  cheerful  place  was  missing. 

"I've  had  a  letter  from  Ellen  which  has  upset  me," 
Sir  Alfred  said,  bending,  over  his  sweetbread. 

"What  is  it  about?" 

270 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  271 

"Well — a  good  many  things.  You  see  she  doesn't 
appreciate  the  position  in  Parliament.  She  thinks 
I  can  if  I  wish  get  up  any  time  and  slate  the  Gov- 
ernment. Absurd,  isn't  it?" 

"What  is  it  she  objects  to?" 

"Oh,  the  Defense  of  the  Realm  Act,  the  Muni- 
tions Act  and  goodness  knows  what" 

"Well,  something  should  be  done.  I'm  busy  on  an 
article  now  dealing  with  over  twenty  cases  of  poor 
men  who  have  been  most  vindictively  treated  for 
making  some  remarks  which  are  passed  unchallenged 
in  most  of  the  day's  newspapers." 

"Yes — yes,  I  know,  Ben.  It's  enougK  to  make 
one's  blood  boil.  I've  had  a  case  in  my  own  con- 
stituency. A  very  fine  young  man — a  pacifist. 
Working  in  a  Government  factory.  Three  months 
for  saying  the  German  working  people  felt  no  hatred 
for  the  British  working  people.  But  what  can  I 
do?  Parliament  as  it  was  doesn't  exist  any  more." 

"Yes — martial  law  in  the  House — well,  martial  law 
is  no  law.  And  so  the  House  is  impotent  to  deal 
now  with  the  grievances  of  individuals.  I  know 
Ellen  feels  the  position  keenly.  I  think  the  House 
might  as  well  shut  up.  It  would  be  more  dignified." 

"It  would — it  would,  I  agree,"  Sir  Alfred  nodded. 

"It  is  the  first  time  in  our  history  the  Commons 
have  been  reduced  to  complete  impotency.  The 
blackest  crime,  mind  you,  of  all  the  discreditable 
business  and  one  the  people  will  never  forget.  Why, 
even  the  Times  feels  obliged  to  warn  the  Govern- 
ment that  dissatisfaction  with  the  working  of  the 
Munitions  Act  may  bring  new  and  f  grave  labor 
troubles.  The  power  given  to  employers  to  refuse 


272  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

a  man  his  charge,  while  on  the  other  hand,  an  em- 
ployer may  dismiss  any  man  at  any  moment  is  an  intol- 
erable curtailment  of  personal  liberty.  It  is  an  out- 
rage, and  those  of  us  who  know  the  working  class 
are  utterly  amazed  at  their  enduring  such  detestable 
tyranny  without  revolt." 

"They're  marvelous — " 

"Yes,  but  we  out-Prussia  Prussia  in  every  par- 
ticular. For  myself  I  must  say  that  no  Prussian 
government  could  possibly  exceed  what  ours  has 
done  in  tyrannous  laws.  The  working  classes  have 
been  traduced  freely  by  ministers  to  take  public 
attention  from  their  own  blatant  blundering.  You 
know  that.  They  have  been  called  drunken  slackers 
and  loafers.  One  minister  is  asked  to  apologize  for 
many  statements  which  are  now  proved  to  be  lies. 
No  one  out  of  his  own  class  seems  to  have  a  good 
word  to  say  for  the  millions  who  have  squandered  their 
kin  and  their  labor  and  their  earnings  on  a  war  in 
which  they  have  not  the  interest  of  a  tinker's  brass 
button.  My  only  hope  is  they  will  remember  this 
time/' 

"You're  very  severe,  Ben.  Of  course  you  see  it 
all  from  a  different  angle.  And  then  you  have  been 
very  badly  treated — " 

"No — that  doesn't  affect  my  opinion.  Ellen  holds 
the  same  views  and  she  has  not  been  imprisoned — " 

"But  Ellen!  She  has  always  been  an  extreme  an- 
archist—or something.  She  is  against  all  govern- 
ments. Even  in  Germany  she  helped  the  Socialists 
on  the  quiet.  But  I  do  wish  you  would  tell  her  what 
the  real  position  is.  Her  letters  worry  me  fear- 
fully. You  know  how  bitter  she  can  be.  In  this 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  273 

one  I  got  this  morning  she  says  I  am  a  traitor  to 
God  and  man." 

He  looked  pathetically  at  Ben  for  some  time, 
waiting  for  a  word  of  sympathy. 

"Now  isn't  that  going  too  far?    Isn't  it,  Ben?" 

Ben  looked  up  and  stared  steadily  at  his  father- 
in-law.  He  seemed  so  pitifully  childish,  so  temper- 
amentally flabby  and  irresolute,  that  Ben  could  scarcely 
repress  an  inclination  to  sneer. 

"No — I  don't  think  so,"  Ben  replied,  keeping  his 
eyes  fixed  on  Sir  Alfred. 

"You  don't  think  so?"  he  gasped.  "A  traitor  to 
God!"  he  exclaimed  hoarsely. 

"I  once  heard  you  preach  a  sermon — or  was  it  a 
speech  on  the  Fatherhood  of  God  and  the  Brother- 
hood of  Man — " 

"Yes,  yes,"  Sir  Alfred  put  in,  "at  the  Albert 
Hall." 

"I  think  it  was.  Anyway,  at  one  of  your  great 
conferences.  The  week  before  you  made  that  speech 
your  shell  factory  declared  a  dividend  of  fifteen  per 
cent,  and  you  only  a  few  days  before  spoke  in  the 
House  in  favor  of  a  greater  naval  program.  Now, 
I  consider  a  man  who  makes  shells  and  urges  the 
Government  to  take  extra  millions  from  the  poorest 
of  the  poor  for  war  purposes  is,  when  he  tells  folks 
he  believes  in  the  Fatherhood  of  God  and  the  Broth- 
erhood of  Man  a  traitor  to  God  and  man.  But  you 
don't  seem  to  appreciate  that.  You  can  not  see  our 
view-point.  You  see  nothing  inconsistent  in  what  you 
say  and  do.  We  see  contradiction  and  inconsistency 
in  nearly  all  you  say  and  do.  You  have  asked  my 
opinion.  There  it  is." 


274  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"You're  candid— really?" 

"Did  you  expect  me  to  be  sympathetic?" 

"I  thought  you  would  see  how  difficult  it  is  for  a 
man  in  my  position  to  be — well,  consistent." 

"I  see  no  difficulty.  Either  be  one  thing  or  the 
other.  Don't  try  to  be  religious  in  business.  Can 
you  serve  God  and  Mammon?" 

"God  and  Mammon?" 

"Yes!     Can  you?" 

"Do  you  mean  a  man  pursuing  a  legitimate  busi- 
ness can  not  serve  God?" 

"I  mean  what  I  say.  Can  you  serve  God  and 
Mammon  ?" 

"Really,  Ben—" 

"See.    Are  you  engaged  in  a  productive  business  ?" 

Sir  Alfred  smiled  his  blandest  and  spread  his 
hands  out  like  two  fans  waving  flies  off  the  spa- 
ghetti, growing  cold  between  them.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders  slightly  and  made  no  reply. 

"You  know  it  isn't.  You  know  every  pound  for 
your  shells  is  wrung  out  of  the  taxpayers.  You 
know  your  business  thrives  on  destruction.  Even  in 
times  of  peace  you  prosper  on  programs  which  are 
fostered  by  international  hate  and  envy.  Can  you 
serve  God  and  Mammon?" 

"I  serve  my  country." 

"Then  why  don't  you  say  so?  Ellen  says  you're 
a  private-pocket  patriot.  Six  years  ago  she  wrote 
to  me  saying  you  were  that.  You  serve  your  coun- 
try! Well,  in  what  way?  You  have  made  an  enor- 
mous fortune  out  of  the  taxpayer.  What  have  you 
given  in  return?  Look  at  the  casualty  lists." 

"Surely  you  don't  hold  me  to  blame  for — " 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  275 

"Ellen  says  you  and  other  armament  makers  are 
very  largely  to  blame  for  all  the  trouble,  and  I  think 
she  is  right.  Your  international  connections  have 
been  at  the  bottom  of  most  of  the  Jingo  orgies  of  the 
last  ten  years." 

"I  have  never  lent  myself  to — " 
"You  never  entered  a  protest — did  you?" 
"I  couldn't  see  my  country  left  defenseless — " 
"Defenseless!    And   dividends   at  ten  and   fifteen 
per  cent.     And  what  is  your  country?     A  land  that 
belongs  at  most  to  one  million  and  a  half  people — 
seventy-five  per  cent,  of  it  owned  by  a  quarter  of  a 
million — out  of  forty-six  millions?     Which  is  your 
country?      That    of    the    comparatively    few    land- 
owners, or  that  of  the  forty-four  millions  of  landless 
creatures  which  pay  over  fifty  per  cent,  of  the  taxes 
and  seventy-five  per  cent,  of  the  rates?" 

He  was  silent.  He  tightened  his  lips  and  twiddled 
a  spoon  on  the  smooth  cloth. 

"Mind,  this  is  not  my  seeking,"  Ben  explained, 
going  on  quite  calmly.  "I  didn't  want  to  say  these 
things  to  you.  It's  only  because  I  want  you,  now 
you've  opened  the  subject,  to  understand  Ellen.  I 
know  you  think  the  world  of  her  and  that  it  galls 
you  to  know  she  hates  your  business  and  can  not 
sympathize  with  your  political  position.  You  are 
unhappy  because  she  will  not  take  a  cent  from  you. 
But  don't  make  any  mistake  about  her  attitude.  She 
would  starve — gladly— rather  than  touch  a  penny  of 
what  she  calls  'blood  money/" 
He  winced  and  hung  his  head. 
"That's  what  she  has  called  it  for  years — long 
before  the  war  began.  You  make  me  think  some- 


276  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

times  you  are  under  the  impression  she  will  change 
when  the  war  is  over.  She  won't.  Make  no  mistake. 
You  know  she  will  have  a  baby  very  soon  now.  Do 
you  know  she  means  to  make  that  child  promise  from 
the  day  it  can  speak  never  to  take  a  penny  piece 
from  you?" 

His,  head  went  down  into  his  napkin,  and  he 
pushed  the  plates  away.  Ben  saw  his  great  shoulders 
heave  convulsively.  The  sight  of  the  burly  man  in 
grief  fascinated  Ben.  For  some  time  he  watched 
him  striving  to  control  himself,  and  as  he  saw  him 
search  for  his  handkerchief  a  great  pity  surged  up 
in  Ben's  soul  for  the  man  who  had  gained  the  world 
but  lost  the  love  of  the  child  he  worshiped.  He 
stretched  his  hand  across  the  table  and  laid  it  on  his 
father-in-law's  arm:  "Come,  come,  you  can  make  it 
all  right,  if  you  choose." 

"How?" 

"Give  the  whole  thing  up  and  snap  your  fingers 
at  public  opinion." 

"I  can't — I  can't — I'm  in — too — too  deeply.  You 
don't  know  what  you  ask.  None  of  you  under- 
stand. It's  easy  enough  for  Ed  and  Ellen  and 
Cricket  to  talk,  but — but  only  the  other  day — at  a 
board  meeting  I  said  I  thought  of  retiring,  and — 
and,  well,  you  should  have  heard  them." 

"Well,  if  you  will  be  the  slave  of  your  board  I 
suppose  you  must  be  its  slave.  Can  you  expect  a 
nature  like  Ellen's  to  have  a  particle  of  respect  for 
a  slave?" 

"No,  Ben,  no.  And  I  hate  myself — loathe  myself 
for  not  having  the  courage  to — to  give  it  up.  Think 
of  my  life  now.  Up  here  living  at  a  club.  Really 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  277 

— I  sometimes  feel  like  an  outcast  My  wife — my 
children — well,  I  haven't  the  pluck  to  see  them  at 
Crowington.  And  now  Fred — missing.  The  news 
about  Fred  has  quite  upset  me.  I  can't  sleep.  He 
told  me  when  I  said  good-by  to  him  we  should  never 
meet  again." 

For  a  while  they  were  deep  in  thought  Each  for- 
got the  other.  Ben's  mind  was  fixed  on  an  article 
he  had  begun  on  the  change  brought  about  by  the 
dearth  of  officers.  The  casualty  lists  had  been  ex- 
tremely heavy.  For  ten  days  over  one  hundred  officers 
a  day  had  been  killed  and  wounded.  Ben  thought  it 
was  time  to  democratize  the  army.  Sir  Alfred  thought 
of  his  wife,  and  the  day  Fred  was  born.  He  remem- 
bered Evie  saying  she  would  not  be  able  to  nurse  him. 

"What  do  you  think  about  democratizing  the  army 
now?"  Ben  asked,  breaking  the  long  silence. 

Sir  Alfred  started  and  looked  up. 

"You  mean  the  shortage  of  officers?" 

"Yes!  Something  must  be  done.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

"But  will  it  be  necessary  for  Parliament  to  act?" 
Sir  Alfred  asked.  "You  see,  men  are  going  up  from 
the  ranks  every  day.  The  whole  character  of  the 
officer  class  is  changed — for  the  time  being.  When 
it's  over  the  aristocracy  will  regain  its  hold  over  the 
army  again.  It's  their  preserve.  But  haven't  they 
done  magnificently?" 

"Yes,  very  well,"  Ben  said.  "So  they  should. 
That's  the  least  to  be  expected  of  'em." 

"Oh,  come,  Ben,  be  fair.  Don't  let  your  prejudice 
cloud  your  judgment.  The  working  class.  Yes,  of 
course.  I  admit  they  have  rallied  splendidly.  But 


278  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

after  all,  where  should  we  be  now  if  the  aristocracy 
hadn't  plunged  into  it  to  a  man?" 

Ben  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with  an  expression 
of  pained  curiosity  and  then  burst  out  into  a  strange 
laugh. 

"You  don't  mean  it,  do  you?"  he  inquired.  "You 
don't  think  there  is  any  comparison  to  be  made,  do 
you  ?  Then  you  do  surprise  me.  You  must  have  been 
reading  the  articles  in  the  Morning  Mail  on  *What 
England  Owes  the  Aristocracy/  " 

"I  have,  I  admit  it,"  Sir  Alfred  nodded. 

"The  most  one-sided  view  I  ever  read,"  Ben  re- 
marked. "See,  Sir  Alfred.  In  the  first  place  a  man 
in  a  case  like  this  must  stand  on  his  own  feet  whether 
he  is  of  the  aristocracy  or  the  working  class.  Each 
has  a  life  to  lose,  each  has  a  soul  to  save.  Who  will 
say  the  aristocrat  makes  a  better  soldier  than  the 
artisan?  Long  lineage  will  not  serve  a  man  in  the 
trenches  any  better  than  unknown  parentage.  More- 
over— and  don't  forget  this — there  are  not  enough 
aristocrats  to  make  a  couple  of  full  battalions  of  fight- 
ing age.  You  don't  call  nineteenth  century  creations 
aristocrats,  do  you?  Captains  of  industry,  men  risen 
from  the  industrial  ranks,  do  not  lose  their  origin 
when  they  are  made  peers.  Give  due  to  each,  be  fair 
to  peer  and  peasant.  Peers  have-  much  to  fight  for : 
land  and  the  privileges  which  go  with  its  ownership. 
They  rule;  peasants  serve.  Don't  think  I'm  prej- 
udiced. Not  a  bit.  But  rank  has  its  obligations — at 
least  it  had  a  couple  or  so  centuries  ago.  The  deuce 
of  it  is,  however,  battles  now  can't  be  fought  by  aris- 
tocrats, so  those  who  serve  must  shoulder  the  gun  to 
save  the  ruling  few.  Isn't  it  so?" 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  279 

"Quite  so.  You're  right,  Ben.  Go  on.  It  seems 
like  old  times  hearing  you  talk  this  way." 

'Well,  just  compare  the  two:  there  goes  the  aris- 
tocrat, born  to  great  wealth.  If  he  live  one  hundred 
years  it  may  not  be  necessary  for  him  to  produce  one 
useful  thing.  He  is  provided  for.  Land,  labor  and 
capital  are  his  in  abundance.  That  is  the  rule." 

"Usually,  it  is  so.    Yes." 

"Socially,  he  is  accepted.  Art  lies  at  his  hand  if 
he  desires  its  wonders.  Now !  There  goes  the  peas- 
ant, born  to  a  long  life  qf  daily  toil.  He  has  no  land. 
His  labor  is  for  hire.  He  lives  often  enough  in  a 
tied-cottage.  A  weekly  tenant,  whose  religious  and 
political  principles  frequently  dare  not  be  expressed 
openly." 

Sir  Alfred  broke  in:  "Right!  By  heaven,  Ben, 
you're  right." 

"Then  capital  can  not  be  amassed  out  of  the  sav- 
ings of  a  weekly  wage  of  fifteen  or  twenty  shillings. 
I  put  it  high.  Socially,  the  peasant  is  an  outcast  Art ! 
That  is  not  for  him.  Leisure  is  essential  if  art  is  to  be 
enjoyed.  Now,  I  ask  you:  are  their  chances  equal? 
Do  the  risks  balance?" 

Then  lowering  his  voice:  "Are  the  stakes  com- 
parable? No!  A  thousand  times  no!  Patriotically, 
the  peasant  is  handicapped  out  of  the  race  from  the 
time  of  entry.  Isn't  it  so?  Then,  there  it  is.  Tell 
me.  When  both  march  out  to  fight,  which  is  the 
greater  patriot?" 

"The  peasant,  Ben,  the  peasant." 

"Patriotism  should  begin  with  equal  rights.  Let 
that  be  so,  and  I  don't  care  a  tinker's  cuss  whether 
class  distinction  exist  or  not.  I  say,  to  the  ranks — 


280  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

every  one  who  wants  to  fight.  Let  peer  and  peasant 
serve  equally,  if  there  be  no  other  way.  But  both 
must  begin  as  Tommies.  Tommies  all  I  say — if  there 
be  need  for  an  army.  Thank  heaven,  the  old  twaddle 
cackled  about  the  necessity  of  having  an  aristocrat 
for  an  officer  has  been  silenced  forever  in  this  affair. 
And  let  me  say  this :  our  British  Tommy  is  the  bone, 
sinew,  soul  of  the  army.  Don't  make  any  mistake 
about  it.  His  spirit,  his  doggedness,  his  sense  of  pal- 
ship,  his  cheerfulness,  and,  above  all,  his  sublime 
sense  of  humor,  are  the  finest  traits  to  be  found  in 
common  man  anywhere  on  earth.  Why?  Because 
each  one  has  a  latent  sense  of  liberty.  The  mass  are 
not  conscious  of  it  yet.  But  down  deep  somewhere 
in  his  make-up,  the  British  lad  has  a  feeling  for  liberty. 
In  that  respect  the  peasant  is  of  longer  lineage  than 
the  peer."  * 

"Ben,  you  make  me  feel  I  am  a  traitor  to  my  class — 
my  origin,"  Sir  Alfred  said,  shaking  his  head  sorrow- 
fully. "Ben,"  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  arm  of  his 
companion,  and  looked  earnestly  into  his  face,  "Ben, 
if  my  old  father  can  know  of  the  change  in  my 
principles,  if  his  soul  is  conscious  of  what  I  am 
doing,  he  will  never  have  a  happy  hour  all  through 
eternity.  It  troubles  me  night  and  day.  And  of  late 
I've  thought  of  my  old  father  so  much.  Yes,  I  am 
no  more  worthy  to  be  called  thy  son.  I  know  that. 
Oh,  God,  I  know  that  I  am  conscious  of  disloyalty, 
and  craven  enough  to  remain  so.  Here  it  is:  man  is 
the  weaver  of  the  web  that  is  to  trap  him.  I'm  trapped, 
Ben — trapped !" 

The  old  strain  struggled  up  in  him  for  supremacy. 
It  was  that  solemn  moment  when  a  beaten  man  can  no. 


rA  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  281 

longer  crush  down  the  best  in  his  soul.  It  Had  been 
pressed  down,  thrust  away  into  a  dark  recess,  then 
ignored,  then  reviled;  tortured,  smirched,  scorned, 
and  derided,  but — never  destroyed.  The  best  clung 
to  him  like  an  undying  love,  enduring  everything  but 
death. 

"Yes,  Ben,  my  old  father  would  have  gone  to  the 
stake  singing  hymns  of  joy  rather  than  desert  his 
people,  or  sacrifice  one  jot  the  principles  of  liberty," 
he  whispered  in  fierce  gusts  of  passion.  "We  have 
forgotten  the  great  ones  of  the  past.  The  poor  needy 
heroes  who  won  for  us  those  liberties  that  fields  of 
military  valor  never  gained.  Your  grandfather,  Ben. 
He  is  of  the  true  British  stock.  It  cut  me  to  the 
very  heart,  that  night,  to  have  him — him! — tell  me 
what  I  am.  I  thought  I  heard  my  own  father's  voice 
admonishing  me.  Him,  to  censure  me.  I'd  rather 
ten  thousand  priests  flay  me  naked  in  public  for  my 
sins  than  sit  under  your  grandfather's  scornful  eyes 
again." 

Ben  left  him  at  the  club.  He  was  worn  out  and 
very  shaky.  What  a  lonely  man  he  seemed  mount- 
ing slowly  the  dark  steps  in  the  gray  misty  night. 
So  it  was  utter  loneliness  which  made  him  ask  Ben 
to  dine  with  him  that  evening.  How  strange,  Ben 
thought,  and  how  like  a  personification  of  the  na- 
tion's family.  He  turned  toward  the  Strand  to 
spend  an  hour  or  two  at  his  office  before  going  to 
that  room  in  Bloomsbury  where  Ellen  let  him  know 
she  was  his. 

Suddenly  many  shafts  of  light  shot  up  into  the 
cloudy  sky.  Then  a  terrific  explosion,  followed  by 
deafening  volleys  from  air-craft  guns.  Far  up  Ben 


282  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

saw  part  of  the  Zeppelin  pass  behind  a  cloud,  travel- 
ing in  the  direction  of  Hampstead. 

It  was  a  cheerless,  gray,  drizzling  morning  and  the 
leaves  fell  heavily  with  a  sodden  thump  upon  the 
ground  when  Harry  Tonks  left  the  village.  He  had 
read  in  the  day's  paper  that  all  unmarried  men  would 
be  called  up  after  the  end  of  the  month  owing  to  the 
failure  of  the  voluntary  system  to  provide  the  weekly 
quota  of  recruits.  The  news  wounded  him  deeply,  for 
he  thought  of  the  many  friends  who  would  be  affected 
by  the  step,  men  who  would  rather  die  than  submit 
to  compulsion.  The  only  thing  worth  living  for  that  had 
not  been  taken  away  by  the  Government  was  the  volun- 
tary system,  though  in  practise  it  still  existed  only  in 
name.  Economic  pressure  had  served  the  purpose  of 
conscriptionists  almost  as  well  as  compulsion  by  act 
of  Parliament. 

The  shock  he  suffered  when  he  was  spat  upon  on 
the  previous  day  completely  unnerved  him.  In  a  mo- 
ment every  fine  instinct  vanished  and  his  blood  boiled 
in  frightful  torrid  gusts,  filling  him  with  a  raging 
heat.  For  a  second  or  two  he  thought  he  saw  blood. 
He  felt  capable  of  springing  on  his  torturer  and  tear- 
ing him  limb  from  limb.  It  was  perhaps  the  sudden 
transformation  in  Harry's  appearance  that  sent  the 
squire  of  Westlongdale  away  in  his  car  at  full  speed. 
Harry  was  tall,  strong,  muscular,  when  aroused;  the 
bent,  moody,  student-like  looseness,  which  was  his 
usual  manner,  was  suddenly  effaced  when  he  held  him- 
by  the  thoughtless;  but  when  he  was  inspired  by  a 
self  erect.  His  aloofness  and  gentleness  might  have 
been  taken  for  the  demeanor  of  the  physical  coward 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  283 

new  idea  or  on  hearing  some  Happy  news,,  electrically 
he  changed  and  was  full  of  spiritual  fire  and  strength. 

That  he  was  capable  of  feeling  the  murderous  in- 
stinct even  under  gross  insult  shocked  him  immeasur- 
ably. Was  he  so  frail?  Could  he  not  trust  himself 
under  great  provocation?  Suppose  they  came  to  him 
and  compelled  him  to  enlist,  would  he  submit  rather 
than  endure  the  consequences,  and  perhaps  the  mili- 
tary conclusion,  death?  All  night  he  lay  awake  pon- 
'dering  the  great  question.  Am  I  my  own  self's  ?  or  the 
State's?  Is  it  my  body  or  my  soul?  Which?  What 
will  be  the  good  of  an  invincible  territorial  empire 
to  me  if  I  kill  a  fellow  man?  These  questions  could 
have  but  one  reply.  I  am  responsible  for  my  actions — 
the  State  is  nothing  to  me. 

And  when  he  passed  from  the  village  and  plunged 
into  the  woods  which  rose  up  the  hills  over  Growing- 
ton  his  thoughts  were  shattered  by  the  news  that  un- 
married men  would  be  called  to  the  ranks  after  the 
end  of  the  month.  Long  months  of  suffering  had 
shaken  his  disposition.  The  work  in  the  hospitals  dur- 
ing the  winter  took  much  of  his  strength,  and  the 
incessant  badgering  to  enlist  while  he  remained  in  Man- 
chester left  him  somewhat  weak.  His  life  in  the  vil- 
lage had  been  one  long  struggle  to  save  himself  from 
spiritual  prostration. 

He  rambled  on  and  up,  avoiding  the  paths,  Hardly 
conscious  that  he  was  forcing  his  way  through  thick 
briers  and  tough  undergrowth.  He  did  not  notice  his 
torn  clothes  and  saturated  feet.  The  drizzle  fell  in 
wavy  sheets  in  the  openings,  and  where  the  trees 
were  dense  great  drops  spattered  down  upon  his  head 
and  shoulders.  The  cry  of  a  startled  pheasant^  the 


284  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

scurry  pf  rabbits^  the  whir  of  partridges  and  the 
fright  of  darting  squirrels,  passed  unheeded.  Harry 
neither  saw  nor  heard  the  things  which  had  always 
drawn  him  into  the  woods.  His  soul  sank  lower  and 
lower  into  himself,  and  his  body  grew  so  heavy  he 
stumbled  and  staggered  under  its  weight 

Near  the  top  of  Clungford  Rise,  which  looks  flown 
upon  the  heathery  heath  pf  black  moss,  Harry  came  to 
a  clearing  where  some  foresters  had  been  at  work. 
.The  day  was  too  wet  for  them,  but  about  rude  blocks, 
tree  stumps  not  rooted  up,  lay  fagots  and  many  cords 
pf  firewood.  By  the  side  of  one  of  the  blocks  lay  a 
big,  heavy  trimming  knife.  Harry  sank  down  on  the 
block,  and  took  up  the  knife.  It  was  a  cumbersome 
weapon.  For  a  long  time  he  sat  and  handled  it, 
trying  to  cut  bits  of  thick  twig  with  his  left  hand. 

"If  thy  hand  offend  thee/'  he  muttered. 

Minutes  passed,  long  intervals  in  which  he  sat  mo- 
tionless, plunged  in  deep  gloom,  oblivious  of  the  rain. 
Once  a  robin  lit  upon  his  boot  and  whistled  his  short 
shrill  autumnal  song;  then  flew  in  swift  darts  away 
to  the  branch  of  an  oak.  A  spasm  shook  Harry  and 
he  stumbled  up  from  the  block.  In  his  left  hand  he 
gripped  the  handle  of  the  knife.  He  knelt  down  beside 
the  stump  and  bared  his  arm.  Then  he  laid  it  with  the 
palm  of  his  right  hand  spread  over  the  block.  Twice 
he  aimed  at  his  wrist  And  then  with  all  his  remain- 
Ing  strength  he  drove  the  knife  down.  The  blood  shot 
up  into  his  eyes  and  he  swooned  away.  The  blow  had 
struck  aslant  his  knuckles  and  gashed  the  back  of  his 
hand. 

When  he  recovered  consciousness  it  was  raining 
heavily.  The  pain  was  enough  to  keep  his  mind  active. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  285 

He  rose  an'd  stumbled  on  through  the  brush;  sprawl- 
ing and  rising,  he  went  head  down  like  a  drunken 
wretch  impelled  from  the  back,  until  he  fell  over  the 
rocks.  His  head  struck  a  boulder  lying  on  the  mossy 
bed  of  the  small  ravine  in  the  hill,  and  he  knew  no 
more  pain. 

The  rain  washed  the  blood  away  from  the  stump 
and  cleaned  the  knife.  And  when  the  clear  sunny 
morning  came  the  old  forester  returned  to  his  work 
of  chopping  and  trimming  the  boughs  into  piles  of 
logs  for  winter  fires. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

EVELYN  yielded  to  Ed  and  let  him  have  Wilms- 
low  on  a  lease  for  twenty-one  years  at  a  moder- 
ate rental.  She  would  not  sell  it  for  she  wished  her 
son  to  have  the  place  his  father  loved  so  well.  The 
arrangement  simplified  the  beginning  of  Ed's  enter- 
prise; the  place  being  well  suited  for  a  stud  farm. 
There  was  already  the  nucleus  there  of  the  kind  of 
establishment  Ed  had  in  mind:  the  acreage  was  suffi- 
cient, the  soil  excellent,  there  was  plenty  of  good 
water  to  be  had  from  the  hills,  and  there  were  nu- 
merous outbuildings  and  boxes.  Labor  was  scarce 
but  after  a  while  Ed  found  some  men  of  over  fifty 
willing  to  enter  his  employ  when  he  promised  to 
house  them  on  an  acre  on  the  estate.  There  were 
some  boys  of  fifteen  and  sixteen  in  the  neighboring 
villages  eager  to  take  jobs  under  the  captain.  It  was 
slow  work  making  a  start,  and  Ed  missed  Harry 
Tonks  who  knew  all  about  plans,  materials  and  build- 
ing. 

When  they  were  comfortably  settled  at  Wilmslow, 
Evelyn  asked  them  to  make  room  for  her  and  the 
boy  and  the  three  maids. 

"A  business  arrangement,  Ed,  if  Clarice  agrees," 
she  said.  "No  charity  mind.  I  can  afford  to  pay 
well." 

Clarice  was  glad  to  have  Cricket  take  up  quarters 
at  Wilmslow,  and  as  there  was  plenty  of  room  in  the 
house,  a  suite  for  Evelyn  was  laid  out.  Soon  Evelyn 

286 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  287 

was  infected  with  the  desire  to  do  something  prac- 
tical. She  saw  Clarice  take  up  dairying  with  great 
zeal.  From  Clungford  she  had  brought  one  of  her 
mother's  best  dairy  maids,  and  already  she  had  found 
a  really  good  cowman  to  select  a  small  herd  of  rich' 
milkers.  They  found  talent  about  the  countryside  go- 
ing begging  at  sixteen  and  twenty  shillings  a  week, 
talent  in  the  employ  of  farmers  incapable  of  using  it 
properly. 

"I  think  I'll  try  my  hand  at  poultry,"  Evelyn  said. 
"Don't  laugh.  I've  been  reading  a  good  bit  about  it 
lately.  What  d*  you  say,  Ed?  There  is  Jenny  Cuth- 
bertson  over  at  Crowington — a  wonderful  woman  at 
that  kind  of  thing.  She'd  come  here  if  I  asked  her." 

"Go  ahead,  Cricket,"  Ed  said.  "Give  it  a  good  trial. 
Eggs  are  fetching  threepence  halfpenny  a  piece." 

Jenny  moved  over  to  Wilmslow  and  was  put  in 
charge  of  the  poultry.  All  worked  with  a  will,  and 
though  they  had  to  meet  some  chaff  and  ill-natured 
remarks  from  acquaintances  they  made  considerable 
progress.  The  farmers  protested  against  the  high 
wages  paid  by  Ed,  and  the  "unnecessary"  up-to-date 
cottages  he  began  to  build  for  his  laborers.  Squires 
drove  past  Wilmslow  and  frowned  on  the  "extrava- 
gance" of  the  "up-start"  who  only  "chucked  his  fath- 
er's money  about"  because  it  was  made  so  easily. 
When  the  rumor  that  the  Crowington  estate  was  to 
be  cut  up  for  small  holders  got  about,  the  squire  of 
Westlongdale  observed  that  "rich  nobodies  were  the 
ntin  of  the  county  and  they  (the  squires)  didn't  want 
any  damned  independent  small  holders  there  to  upset 
the  laborers  by  making  them  dissatisfied  with  their 
proper  station." 


288  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Harold's  life  was  made  so  miserable  by  his  wife's 
relations  and  friends  girding  at  him  since  Ed  went  to 
Wilmslow  that  he  thought  seriously  of  trying  to  find 
another  parish.  He  wrote  to  his  father  and  asked  him 
to  use  his  influence  with  the  prime  minister. 

Lady  Horton-Birkett  was  now  quite  alone  in  the 
big  house.  Ellen  was  unable  to  go  far  from  the  vil- 
lage, and  her  mother  without  companionship  in  the 
house  found  time  drag  wearily  along  there,  though 
she  visited  Wilmslow  and  Ellen  every  day. 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  November  when  Sir  Al- 
fred went  down  to  Crowington  to  spend  a  long  week- 
end. His  wife  had  written  him  begging  him  to  come 
down.  She  was  alone.  They  were  all  gone.  Even 
Ellen  could  not  get  down  to  see  her. 

"Alfred,  I  can't  stay  here,"  his  wife  said,  when  they 
were  alone.  "It  is  such  shocking  waste  at  a  time  like 
this.  You  come  only  once  a  month  now.  And  though 
I've  reduced  the  staff  it  takes  eight  people  to  keep  the 
house  in  order.  Then  there's  two  men  in  the  gardens, 
two  in  the  stables,  a  chauffeur  and  three  boys." 

"What'll  you  do?"  he  asked. 

"Shut  the  place  up  and  go.  Nobody  wants  it  now." 

"Where'll  you  go?" 

She  paused  and  looked  away. 

"To— North  Wales,  I  think." 

"To  be  near  your  Romans,  eh?" 

His  face  was  drawn,  and  a  bitter  sneer  hovered 
round  his  mouth. 

"What  else  is  there  for  me  to  do  ?  There  is  a  large 
convalescent  hospital  there  full  of  wounded  soldiers, 
and  not  far  away  a  place  where  some  of  the  demented 
are  to  be  cared  for." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  289 

»  "Roman  establishments,  eh?" 

"Well,  they  must  care  for  their  own." 

"Very  well.  Do  's  you  like,"  he  said. 

"And  what  will  you  do  ?" 

"Stay  at  the  club.  Can't  get  away  from  town  for 
long." 

"Have  you  thought  any  more  of  giving  up " 

"Giving  up — giving  up.  You  make  me  sick  with 
your  giving  up.  How  can  I  give  up?" 

She  had  seldom  seen  him  out  of  temper.  He  had 
never  snarled  at  her  before.  A  look  of  deep  pain 
came  in  her  face  and  he  saw  it.  In  a  quieter,  softer 
tone  he  said:  "Sorry,  Evie,  I'm  a  bit  out  o'  sorts. 
The  thing's  got  on  my  nerves.  I'm  not  myself  nowa- 
days." 

"Well,  I  wanted  you  to  come  here  and  let  me  look 
after  you,"  she  said,  with  a  sad  shake  of  her  head. 

"Yes,  I  know — I  know,  Evie.  You're  very  good, 
but  I'm  a  miserable  coward.  I  haven't  the  courage  to 
do  what  you  and  Ed  asked.  I'm  in  it,  and  in  it  I  must 
stay.  It's  my  own  fault  entirely.  I  thought  I  would 
always  be — what  you  call  it? — master  of  my  own 
fate.  I  made  a  mistake.  I'm  just  a  tin  can  rattling  at 
the  tail  of  the  Government's  dog.  I've  about  as  much 
right  to  myself  as  any  wretched  Tommy  in  the 
trenches.  It's  awful.  Fighting  for  liberty!  Liberty! 
There's  not  a  particle  left  in  the  land  worth  a  two- 
penny cuss — beg  pardon.  And  now  the  Government 
really  is  going  to  tax  war-profits.  Don't  you  think  I 
would  get  out  if  I  could?  Isn't  there  every  reason  to 
get  out?  I  don't  want  any  more  of  it — I'm  tired  to 
death  of  it  all.  Besides,  the  very  men  I  have  always 
despised  for  their  politics  are  now  running  the  Gov- 


290  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

ernment.  WKat  is  there  left  worth  sticking  to  ?  Noth- 
ing— absolutely  nothing !" 

"I'm  glad  you  see  that" 

"Besides,  no  one  is  satisfied.  Everything's  mixed 
Up,  gone  wrong,  and  in  the  melting  pot.  Now  it's  got 
to  the  pot  calling  the  kettle  black.  They're  all  quar- 
reling among  themselves — too  busy  to  give  you  a 
'thank  you'  for  anything  you've  done.  That  oratorical 
whipper-snapper  at  the  War  Office  gave  me  a  snub 
the  other  day  because  he  was  riding  with  Lady  Envi- 
toon  in  her  car.  Ton  my  soul,  I  wonder  the  people 
idon't  rise  and  hang  a  dozen  of  the  folks  who've  got 
us  into  this  mess.  Snub  me,  eh?" 

She  watched  him  pace  round  and  round  the  billiard 
table  while  he  spoke.  She  knew  speech  at  such  a  time 
was  as  good  as  blood-letting  for  his  condition.  He 
stopped  near  her  and  took  her  hands:  "It's  Fred — 
that's  what  it  is,  Evie,  Fred!  It's  hard." 

"And  you  never  came  to  me." 

"I  couldn't  face  you." 

"This  is  the  first  time  since  you  wrote " 

"Yes — I  know.  Forgive  me.   I've  felt  it  awfully." 

He  retired  early  after  a  hot  bath  and  a  dose  of  aco- 
nite. It  was  late  when  he  woke,  feeling  better ;  the  first 
restful  night  he  had  known  for  several  weeks.  The 
morning  was  clear,  and  a  fine  wind  blew  from  the 
northeast.  The  meadows  were  still  green,  and  some 
late  chrysanthemums  nodded  in  the  garden.  The 
place  looked  clean  and  orderly,  and  the  cattle  moved 
slowly  with  the  wind.  Away  to  the  south  he  could  see 
the  square  tower  of  Harold's  church,  backed  by  tall 
beeches  and  banked  as  it  seemed  from  his  window  by 
oaks  and  the  red  roofs  of  the  village  shops.  He  had 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  291 

toften  looked  upon  the  scene  and  gloried  m  the  thought 
that  he  was  master  of  the  place.  But  now  he  felt  no 
thrill  of  pride.  There  was  something  lost,  some  inter- 
est wrenched  away  that  would  never  prompt  him  to 
revel  in  the  sense  of  ownership  again. 

"Dead  sea  fruit/'  he  muttered,  and  snickered  at  the 
notion.  A  place  nobody  wants !  Then  his  mind  went 
back  nearly  thirty  years  and  he  remembered  having 
a  speech  to  make  in  a  neighboring  constituency  at  a 
bye-election  when  the  land  question  raised  by  Joseph 
Arch  was  dominant.  He  had  looked  up  the  particu- 
lars of  ownership  of  land  in  the  county  and  found 
according  to  the  Derby  return  of  the  'seventies  that 
about  thirty  persons  held  over  seventy-five  per  cent. 
of  the  one  million  acres  in  the  shire,  and  that  the 
population  of  it  had  been  almost  stationary  then  for 
a  generation.  That  was  in  the  days  when  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  parody  certain  lines  from  well-known 
verses:  "God  bless  our  landlord's  land,"  and  "The 
land  is  the  landlord's  and  the  fullness  thereof,"  etc., 
etc.  How  he  had  changed !  Well,  who  hadn't  changed  ? 
he  asked  himself.  He  thought  of  the  political  friends 
of  his  youth.  He  could  not  remember  one  who  had 
not  changed. 

"So  you  want  to  get  away  from  here,  eh?" 

"Yes.  I'll  pay  them  all  a  month's  wages  and  shut 
the  place  up." 

"And  what'll  they  do?" 

"The  servants?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.  They'll  be  all  thrown  out  of  work." 

She  was  embarrassed  and  unable  to  reply. 

"What'll  the  county  say?" 

"I  didn't  think  of  that,  Alfred." 


292  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Better  let  them  stay  where  they  are  eating  their 
heads  off  than  have  it  said  we  threw  them  out  of 
work  when  we  were  coining  money  out  of  the  tax- 
payers." 

"But  isn't  it  sinful  waste  T  she  asked.  "With  no 
one  here?" 

"That's  it,  Evie,  you  see.  Once  you  start  this  game 
it's  got  you.  Only  bankruptcy  or  death  can  let  you 
out.  You  want  to  give  it  up  and  live  your  own  life, 
but  it  won't  do.  You  can't.  The  system  says,  'You  be 
hanged.  If  you  wish  to  go  to  North  Wales,  go,  but 
don't  run  away  with  the  idea  that  you  can  escape  me.' 
So  the  palace  we  took  for  ourselves  becomes  the 
house  of  a  lot  of  flunkys  and  maid-servants.  Nice, 
isn't  it?" 

"Well,  I  can't  stay  here,"  she  said  firmly. 

"Don't,  my  dear.  But  you  can't  dismiss  your  serv- 
ants. Not  now,  anyway." 

"Very  well,  then,  I  suppose  they  must  stay." 

"Of  course  they  must.  If  the  damn  place  were  in 
town  we  might  get  the  Government  to  use  it  for  a  hos- 
pital. Like  Horton  House." 

"Have  you  been  there  since  you  turned  it  over 
to ?" 

"No,  never  been  near  it.  I  forget  it  belongs  to  me." 

He  ordered  the  car  with  the  intention  of  going  into 
Minsterley  to  see  a  solicitor  about  an  estate  that  had 
fallen  into  his  hands.  A  small  estate  of  two  thousand 
acres  in  the  county  on  which  he  held  a  mortgage  of 
ten  thousand  pounds.  The  widow  of  the  owner  of 
the  place  had  fallen  on  evil  days  and  something  had 
to  be  done  for  her.  She  had  lost  two  sons  in  the  war, 
and  she  had  gone  into  lodgings  in  Minsterley.  As  the 


!£  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  293 

car  entered  Crowington  village  he  told  the  chauffeur 
to  call  at  the  vicarage.  Harold  was  in  the  garden 
talking  to  an  old  woman,  who  was  crying  bitterly.  He 
dismissed  her  when  he  saw  his  father  drive  up  to  the 
porch. 

"Hullo,  dad,  did  you  get  my  letter?"  Harold  asked. 

"Yes.   What's  up?" 

"I  hate  this  place,  and  I  must  get  out  Get  away 
from — right  away  from  Crowington." 

Then  he  told  at  great  length  all  the  troubles  Ed  had 
brought  to  him  by  taking  Wilmslow.  Harold's  old 
friends  were  making  things  uncomfortable  for  him. 
Ed  was  setting  such  a  bad  example.  The  farmers 
were  protesting  everywhere.  Then  Ellen,  down  at 
Tonks',  behaving  in  the  most  undignified  manner,  hav- 
ing a  child — there ! 

"Now,  there  are  two  good  vacancies,  both  in  the 
hands  of  the  prime  minister.  You  must  get  me  out  of 
this  place." 

"And  who  am  I  to  put  here?" 

"Oh,  that's  simple.  The  archdeacon  has  a  neph- 
ew  " 

"Has  he?  Well,  he  can  keep  him.  There'll  be  no 
kin  of  the  archdeacon  here." 

"But  I've "  Harold  turned  pale  and  stuck  fast 

for  a  moment. 

"You've  what?" 

"I've  nearly  fixed  it  up." 

"Then  you'll  unfix  it  at  once." 

"But,  dad." 

"I  mean  it."   His  father  raised  his  voice  angrily. 

"Heavens,  you'll  not  put  me  in  such  a  hole." 

"I'll  have  none  of  your  friends  here.  If  you  go,  I'll 


294  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

find  some  hard-working  man  out  of  my  constituency 
who  really  needs  a  soft  job  to  come  here " 

"But  this  is  a  plum " 

"I  know  it  is.  The  kind  of  job  a  hard-working  man 
In  your  church  seldom  gets.  Now  listen  to  me.  With 
your  emolument,  and  what  I  give  you,  you  ought  to  be 
content.  Evidently  you're  not.  No,  your  parsnips  have 
been  well  buttered  for  you." 

"Parsnips " 

"Hold  your  tongue.  Now,  take  my  advice  and  give 
about  ten  years  to  some  poor  parish  in  town  and  show 
you  can  give  some  service " 

"Oh,  I  know  they've  turned  you  against  me,"  Har- 
old cried.  "I  knew  they  would.  Tittle-tattling  lot.  Just 
because  I  went  for  that  cowardly  hound,  Harry 
Tonks.  It'sEd— Ed's  done  this!" 

He  marched  up  and  down  the  library  waving  his 
hands  like  a  madman. 

"Ed  never  mentioned  your  name  to  me.  I  haven't 
seen  or  heard  from  Ed  since  his  marriage.  And  Ellen 
ignores  your  existence.  Anyway,  think  what  you 
please  about  it.  You're  going  out  of  this,  and  I  shall 
put  a  man  of  my  own  choosing  in.  It's  time  for  you 
to  look  yourself  for  a  job  that  will  suit  you." 

His  father  left  him.  As  the  car  drove  away  from 
the  vicarage  Sir  Alfred  gave  vent  to  his  anger  in 
many  mutterings  and  growlings.  "The  archdeacon's 
nephew !  Never  was  such  cheek !  Confound  the  arch- 
deacon !  That  miserable  jack-in-the-box !  Not  likely !" 
Harold  had  done  quite  the  wrong  thing  in  suggesting 
such  a  change.  The  archdeacon  who  had  publicly — 
at  an  election  —  called  his  father  "a  raving  ranter 
turned  respectable  by  marrying  an  Anglican  lady."  It 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  295 

was  a  long  time  ago — the  first  year  Sir  Alfred  came 
to  Crowington.  But  he  had  a  long  memory  for  that 
kind  of  insult.  He  did  not  recover  his  good  humor 
before  he  reached  Minsterley. 

The  solicitor  was  proud  to  meet  Sir  Alfred.  It  was 
good  of  him  to  spare  the  time  during  such  a  crisis. 

"What  is  the  position?" 

"Briefly  this,  Sir  Alfred,"  the  solicitor  began.  "Mrs. 
Eckersley  is  impoverished  and  obliged  to  go  into  lodg- 
ings. She  had  three  sons,  one  a  ne'er-do-well,  some- 
where in  South  America,  the  others  lost  in  the  war. 
-  Now  she  has  no  near  relations  to  help  her.  She  man- 
aged to  get  along  in  a  thirty  pound  villa  before  the 
war — but  her  sons — gone,  and  she  is  left  without  sup- 
port. I  have  out  of  my  own  pocket " 

"I  see.  I  see.  What  is  the  income  from  her  old 
place?" 

"Very  small.  About  six  hundred  pounds  I  think  it 
yields  you,  Sir  Alfred." 

"Six  hundred  pounds!" 

"You  were  put  to  great  expense  fixing  it  up." 

"Never  mind.    Pay  her  four  hundred  pounds." 

"Four  hundred  pounds!" 

"Yes — let  her  have  four  hundred  pounds." 

"But,  Sir  Alfred — half!  Four  hundred  pounds! 
That  is  munificent." 

"She's  a  lady,  isn't  she?" 

"Such  a  lady,  Sir  Alfred !  Was  a  Miss  Laurence  of 
Chanbury  1" 

"Very  well,  attend  to  it  and  say  nothing  outside. 
Good  morning." 

The  solicitor  bowed  him  down  to  the  car  and  stood 
bare-headed — a  tiling  of  which  his  wife  would  have 


296  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

utterly  disapproved  had  she  known — on  the  pavement 
until  the  car  passed  out  of  sight. 

He  could  not  resist  the  desire  to  go  the  long  way 
home  and  pass  Wilmslow.  He  wanted  to  call  and  see 
Ed  and  the  others,  but  he  did  not  feel  strong  enough 
for  the  arguments  which  he  knew  he  should  have  to 
meet.  As  the  car  branched  off  to  the  west  across  the 
heath  he  could  see  the  roof  of  the  Lodge  glistening  in 
the  sunlight.  Suddenly  the  chauffeur  eased  the  car 
and  turned  toward  the  window. 

"There's  something  up  over  there,  Sir  Alfred,"  he 
said. 

"Where?"  his  employer  gasped,  popping  his  head 
out  of  the  window.  The  car  stopped. 

"See.  On  the  hill  above  Clungford." 

"Oh !  I  thought  you  meant  Wilmslow,"  Sir  Alfred 
said  in  a  relieved  tone,  as  he  stepped  from  the  car. 

There  were  two  men  making  signs.  They  were  a 
long  way  off,  but  on  the  sky-line  standing  on  the  bare 
rock  they  could  be  seen  distinctly.  Then  a  man  could 
be  seen  running  down  the  fields  toward  Wilmslow,  a 
mile  nearer  to  the  rocks  than  Clungford  Hall.  Sir  Al- 
fred sprang  back  into  the  car  and  told  the  chauffeur 
to  push  ahead.  At  the  crossroads  they  hailed  the  man 
and  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"A  man — dead — on  top  o' — up  there,"  he  gasped 
breathlessly.  He  pointed  back  at  Clungford  Hill. 
"They  think — he's — Mr.  'Any — beg  pardon,  Sir  Al- 
fred— didn't  know  it  war  you,  sir." 

"Mr.  Harry  Tonks?" 

"Yes,  sir.   Tm  as  been  missing  these  two  weeks." 

"Terrible." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  297. 

"They  sent  me  down  for  ropes." 

"Ropes?" 

"Aye,  'e's  lying  at  bottom  of  'ole  like,  in  rocks." 

Wilmslow  was  the  only  place  to  get  ropes,  near 
there.  Sir  Alfred  sent  the  chauffeur  back  to  the  Lodge, 
telling  him  not  to  let  the  ladies  know,  but  to  get  hold 
of  the  captain  and  bring  some  strong  ropes,  then  take 
them  to  the  nearest  point  up  the  road  skirting  the  hill. 
Sir  Alfred  started  off  across  the  fields  feeling  sick  at 
the  sudden  change  in  the  day's  events. 

"There's  the  car,  Sir  Alfred,"  his  companion  cried, 
as  he  saw  it  turn  up  the  hill  from  the  crossroads.  It 
stopped  at  the  edge  of  the  woods,  and  Ed  and  two 
men  jumped  out.  They  scrambled  through  the  hedge 
and  ran  with  the  ropes  toward  Sir  Alfred  now  near 
the  foot  of  the  hill.  They  climbed  up  the  steep  in 
silence,  the  tail  of  rope  trailing  behind  them.  When 
they  reached  the  top  and  stood  upon  the  rock  an  old 
man  pointed  down. 

"  'E's  dead." 

It  was  a  narrow  place  where  the  body  lay,  and  it 
was  a  difficult  matter  to  raise  it  to  the  top.  Ed  shud- 
dered when  it  was  brought  to  the  surface,  and  he 
spread  his  coat  over  the  dead  man's  face. 

"Take  'im  to  the  village — ?"  the  old  forester  asked. 

"No,  no,"  Ed  cried.  "To  Wilmslow.  And  don't  say 
a  word  that  can  reach  Mrs.  Ben." 

"Aw !  That's  rite !  Fergot  about  Mrs.  Ben,  Capt'n." 

They  sent  for  a  cart,  and  Ed  went  back  to  the  Lodge 
tc  tell  his  wife  and  Evelyn.  He  telephoned  to  the  cor- 
oner— Asking  him  to  keep  it  as  quiet  as  possible  be- 
cause of  the  condition  of  his  sister. 


298  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

It  was  a  long  way  to  take  a  cart,  from  Wilmslow, 
through  Crowington,  and  up  the  long  lane  into  the 
rutty  path  winding  up  through  the  woods  to  the  clear- 
ing where  Harry  tried  to  sever  the  hand  that  might 
offend.  The  police  and  coroner  were  on  the  spot  long 
before  the  cart  arrived. 

And  when  the  body  came  to  Wilmslow  the  sun  was 
set  over  Clungford  Hill,  and  a  fine  star  shone  in  the 
deepening  blue  already  dark  enough  to  let  the  old 
moon's  silvery  crescent  light  the  peace  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  inquest  held  at  Wilmslow  passed  without  ex- 
citement. The  verdict  "accidental  death"  was 
accepted  by  all,  but  three,  as  satisfactory  and  accord- 
ing to  the  evidence.  At  lunch  with  Ed  and  Ben  after 
the  inquest  Sir  Alfred  could  not  refrain  from  speak- 
ing of  the  disfigured  hand.  On  top  of  Clungford  Rock 
when  the  body  had  been  raised  the  right  hand  lay 
stretched  out,  palm  down,  on  a  flat  slab  of  purple 
slate.  It  was  so  white.  The  rain-washed  wound 
caught  his  eye,  and  the  gash  across  the  knuckles 
seemed  like  a  pallid  mouth  opening  to  speak.  The 
limp  white  hand  told  a  tale  to  Sir  Alfred  which  he 
dare  not  believe.  No  one  else  apparently  paid  any 
attention  to  it.  Ed  had  covered  the  face  of  the  corpse, 
and  straightway  was  busy  giving  directions  to  men 
about  fetching  a  cart  from  Wilmslow. 

Ed  and  Ben  noticed  the  hand  when  the  doctor  ex- 
amined the  body,  but  he  attributed  all  marks  and 
scratches  to  the  fall  over  the  jagged  rocks.  There  was 
no  suggestion  of  murder  or  suicide.  There  was  no 
motive  for  either. 

"That  hand,"  Sir  Alfred  remarked,  "the  right  one. 
Did  you  notice  it?  It  looked — a — funny  to  me.  Like 
as  if  it  had  been  struck  by  a  sharp — no,  not  sharp — a 
blunt  knife/' 

"I  thought  he  had  smashed  it  against  a  sharp  piece 
of  rock  in  falling — perhaps  the  hand  was  wounded 
that  way,"  Ben  said.  "Why,  what  do  you  think? 
What's  in  your  mind?" 

299 


300 


They  stared  at  Sir  Alfred  who,  not  expecting  to  be 
questioned,  looked  embarrassed.  He  had  hoped  they 
would  make  suggestions  as  to  the  cause  of  the 
wounds. 

"What  is  it,  dad?"  Ed  asked. 

His  father  coughed  uncomfortably,  and  tried  to 
feign  indifference:  "Nothing — I — just  thought — 

Suddenly  Ed  started  and  sat  straight  up. 

"What?"  Ben  exclaimed. 

"'If  thy  hand  offend  thee '"  Ed  said  in  firm 

low  tones. 

"Good  God,  you  don't  think ?"  Ben  cried. 

They  were  silent  while  the  idea  took  possession  of 
their  minds.  They  shrunk  into  themselves  dejectedly. 
After  a  long  pause  Sir  Alfred  said:  "It  struck  me 
yesterday  when  they  raised  his  body  up." 

"He  tried  to  do  it,"  Ed  observed.  "He  said  or 
rather  hinted  there  was  that  way  out.  'If  thy  hand 
offend  thee/  he  said.  Ben!  It's  horrible.  Harry's 
hand!" 

Ben  looked  distressed.  "Yes,"  he  muttered.  His 
voice  quavered. 

"Architect,  wasn't  he?"  Sir  Alfred  asked. 

He  was  sorry  he  had  started  the  subject  for  now 
there  came  to  mind  the  night  when  he  went  into 
Tonks'  house  to  deliver  the  registration  forms.  He 
thought  of  his  altercation  with  Harry.  Were  they 
thinking  of  that  night? 

"Well,  I  must  get  away,"  he  said,  rising  briskly. 

Ed  saw  him  to  the  car.  After  he  was  snugly  seated, 
he  put  his  head  out  of  the  window :  "Ed,  order  a  very 
fine  stone — don't  say  anything,  you  know.  Send  the 
bill  to  me." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  301 

They  laid  the  body  of  Harry  Tonks  in  Cltmgford 
Wesleyan  churchyard.  Oarice  had  hoped  he  would 
be  buried  in  the  grounds  of  the  old  church  by  the 
river,  but  Harry  was  not  an  Anglican.  Still  the  earth 
was  just  as  warm  where  he  lay,  and  Ed  said  it  did 
not  matter  much  now  where  he  rested. 

They  kept  the  news  from  Ellen.  Ben  would  not  let 
them  even  wear  black.  His  little  wife  was  having  a 
hard  time  and  Doctor  Raymond  said  it  would  be  a 
difficult  labor.  Ben  was  far  too  anxious  about  her  to 
think  of  going  back  to  town.  The  days  dragged  on 
until  the  noon  of  a  fine  cold  day  when  Ellen  knew  the 
time  had  come  for  her  to  give  to  the  world  a  child. 
The  hours  of  agony  lengthened  into  the  night,  and  the 
doctor  became  grave.  Ben  shut  himself  up  in  the  next 
room  and  thought  he  would  go  mad.  He  knew  what 
frightful  pain  she  must  be  suffering  to  give  expres- 
sion to  those  cries  of  anguish.  The  woman  in  agony 
to  give  birth.  The  nations  in  agony  to  give  death. 
Strange  ideas  came  rushing  into  his  mind  as  he  paced 
up  and  down  the  room,  up  and  down,  hour  after 
hour,  waiting,  listening,  hoping  for  the  cry  of  relief. 

It  was  after  midnight  when  he  stood  at  her  bedside 
and  looked  on  her  little  prostrate  form.  "Lizzie  at  the 
fireside  held  the  child.  Ben  leaned  over  his  wife  and 
laid  his  hand  on  her  head.  She  was  too  weak  to 
speak,  only  her  eyes  told  him  of  her  pain  and  her 
joy.  A  month  passed  before  she  began  to  regain  her 
strength,  and  then  Ben  took  her  away  to  the  seaside 
to  get  thoroughly  well. 

The  house  at  Crowington  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
servants,  and  Lady  Horton-Birkett  was  living  in 
Wales.  Wilmslow  was  a  busy  farm,  and  Ed  was 


302  "A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

free  of  the  army.  His  father  had  arranged  at  the 
War  Office,  as  he  was  no  more  use  to  the  service, 
for  him  to  leave  altogether.  Just  as  he  had  used  his 
influence  to  get  them  to  let  the  Victoria  Cross  matter 
drop,  so  now  he  urged  them  to  give  Ed  his  discharge. 
Ed  did  not  want  the  pay. 

Christmas  was  a  solemn  time  at  the  Lodge.  Early 
in  the  morning  Sir  Alfred  arrived  without  notice.  He 
came  from  town  on  the  night  train  from  Minsterley, 
and  then  drove  out  in  a  taxi.  Ed  was  awake  when  he 
heard  the  cab  pull  up.  He  slipped  on  his  dressing 
gown  and  went  down  to  the  dining-room  where  his 
father  sat  huddled  up  in  his  fur  coat  in  a  big  chair. 

"Dad,  what  brings  you-' "  he  began, 

"Can't  stand  it,  Ed." 

"Been  to  bed  yet?" 

"Traveled  all  night." 

"In  the  slow? — from  town?" 

"Yes.   Better  than  the  club." 

"Lord!  We  better  fix  up  a  bed  for  you.   Wait" 

Ed  told  them  to  get  a  room  ready,  light  a  fire  and 
see  that  everything  was  comfortable.  When  he  re- 
turned his  father  was  dozing.  Ed  looked  Closely  at 
him.  Great,  deep,  dark  rings  encircled  his  eyes,  the 
heavy  cheeks  hung  in  chunks  about  his  jaws,  and  his 
brow  and  mouth  bore  furrows  which  seemed  en- 
grained with  black  dust.  He  woke  up  suddenly  and 
Stammered  Incoherently. 

"All  right,  dad?" 

"Eh?  Ed,  that  you?" 

"You're  not  ill,  are  you?" 

"No,  ill,  no.  Oh,  no.   Tired,  a  bit— that's  all." 

"Nothing  wrong?" 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  303 

"No— no." 

"Your  room'll  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes." 

"Good.   Ill  be  all  right  after  a  snooze." 

Ed  saw  him  up  to  bed  and  left  him  lying  on  the  flat 
of  his  back,  his  eyes  closed  tight.  At  breakfast  he  told 
Clarice  and  Evelyn  his  father  had  arrived  and  was 
asleep.  But  the  sudden  appearance  of  Sir  Alfred  and 
his  strange  reticence  perplexed  Ed,  who  was  not  a 
man  to  deal  with  mysteries.  There  was  something 
strange  in  his  father's  manner.  Late  in  the  morning 
Ed  stole  up-stairs  and  peeped  into  the  room.  Still  on 
the  flat  of  his  back  his  father  lay,  the  mouth  shut 
tight,  the  hands  clenched  on  the  counterpane,  and  the 
face  drawn.  His  cheeks  were  wet,  tear  stains  had 
coursed  the  furrows  and  disturbed  the  dust.  Ed  went 
softly  to  the  bedside  and  stood  watching  the  rise  and 
fall  of  the  clothes  on  his  father's  breast.  Sir  Alfred 
opened  his  eyes  and  looked  straight  at  his  son. 

"Robert !"  he  muttered  in  a  thick  soppy  tone. 

"Bob?  Well?" 

"Gone." 

Ed  sat  down  on  the  bedside  and  fell  Into  a  deep 
moody  silence.  The  fire  in  the  grate  was  low,  but  the 
sun  shone  brightly,  and  sent  shafts  of  yellow  light 
through  the  sides  of  the  blind  into  the  room.  He 
could  hear  Clarice  outside  talking  to  the  groom,  then 
the  pawing  of  her  horse  and  its  capering.  His  wife 
was  going  for  a  drive  over  to  Clungford  to  see  her 
mother.  Evelyn's  baby  jabbered  at  the  restive  animal. 
There  was  silence  again  when  Clarice  drove  away. 

"When  did  you  hear?"  Ed  asked. 

"Yesterday  morning." 

His  father  turned  over  and  hid  his  face. 


304  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Can  you  do  with  me  for  a  day  or  two,  Ed?" 

"As  long  as  you  like.  Stay  where  you  are.  You 
better  have  some  food.  I'll  see  to  your  bath,  dad." 

At  lunch  Ed  told  them  his  father  was  not  well  and 
would  remain  in  his  room  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  It 
was  nothing  serious.  No,  he  did  not  think  Clarice 
should  send  for  Doctor  Raymond.  His  father  was 
tired  out.  That  was  all.  Lady  Clungford  came  over 
for  early  dinner.  There  was  a  Christmas  tree  for  Eve- 
lyn's child,  and  the  table  had  the  look  of  being  spread 
for  a  merry  feast.  The  servants  were  to  have  the  full 
evening,  from  half  past  seven,  to  themselves.  Ed  kept 
the  news  of  Robert's  death  to  himself. 

"Should  I  run  up  and  sit  with  dad  for  a  while?" 
Evelyn  asked. 

"I'd  leave  him  alone  to-day,  Cricket.  Don't  disturb 
him." 

His  presence  in  the  house  seemed  to  cast  a  shadow 
over  all,  and  in  the  afternoon  their  voices  fell  almost 
to  whispers.  The  servants  forgot  to  sing.  And  the 
evening  feast  was  somewhat  funereal  and  sad.  Even 
Lady  Clungford's  jolly  temper  failed  to  rouse  them. 

"You're  not  a  merry  lot,"  she  said.  "Well,  it  isn't 
to  be  expected  after  all,  is  it?  Not  even  for  a  day. 
Clarice,  I'm  thinking  I  was  an  altruist  to  let  Ed  take 
you  away.  That  place  over  there's  too  big  for  me 
without  you.  Think  of  it !  Just  me  in  all  that  house, 
and  a  big  collection  of  men  and  women  to  look  after 
it.  Will  there  be  any  families  left  after  this?  Have 
you  heard  from  your  mother,  Cricket?" 

"She's  in  Wales.  Gone  over  to  Colwyn  to  stay  near 
Ellen  and  the  baby." 

"How  are  the  dear  things?" 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  305 

"Little  'tin's  getting  on  well,  and  the  baby's  ripping. 
Ellen  can't  believe  she's  alive  after  it.  Ten  pounds, 
he  was." 

"She's  nursing  it?'* 

"Rather." 

The  crackers  had  to  be  pulled  and  the  pudding  set 
aflame.  Presents  were  distributed  and  opened,  and  all 
the  make-believe  of  festivity  gone  through,  but  it  was 
without  pleasure,  without  laughter. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  with  our  big  places  now, 
Ed?"  Lady  Clungford  asked. 

"Blest,  if  I  know.    Break  'em  up — perhaps." 

"They're  no  good  to  us.  Little  folks  in  big  places 
with  smaller  incomes  and  crushing  taxes.  No  men 
but  cripples.  Some  boys  at  schools.  And  women — 
three  a  penny.  All  in  a  few  months.  Well,  I  never 
posed  as  a  religious  woman,  but  if  I  haven't  thought 
a  good  bit  lately  of  some  of  the  old  prophets.  Retri- 
bution— and  all  that.  Things  haven't  been  right,  have 
they,  Ed?" 

"Mother!   You  moralizing!"  Qarice  exclaimed. 

"Well,  my  lass,  this  is  the  first  time  for  nearly  forty 
years  I've  had  to  think  alone — seriously,"  Lady  Clung- 
ford explained.  "And  I  can't  say  I  like  the  thoughts 
that  come  creeping  into  my  mind  these  gloomy  days. 
They  stick,  and  make  me  feel  very  uncomfortable." 

"What  thoughts?" 

"Oh,  thoughts  about  hunting — comfort — all  selfish 
notions " 

"You  selfish,"  Ed  cried. 

"You  old  silly,"  Clarice  laughed,  running  to  her 
mother  and  giving  her  a  big  hug.  "Why,  you  never 
had  a  selfish  thought  in  your  life!" 


I 

306  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Haven't  I?  That's  all  you  know.  Never  mind 
about  that  though.  Anyway,  when  I  think  of  the  men, 
all  the  fine  young  chaps  of  Europe — Well!  it  makes 
me  feel — horrible.  We're  all  mad — stark,  staring,  rav- 
ing mad." 

"That's  so,"  Ed  agreed.  "But  the  worst  of  it  is  we 
don't  know  we're  mad.  It's  a  world  turned  upside 
down.  I  passed  the  county  lunatic  asylum  the  other 
day  and  I  thought  it  was  quite  possible  all  outside 
were  crazy  and  the  inmates  sane.  The  trouble  is  we 
let  those  who  don't  produce  run  the  show — the  Gov- 
ernment, I  mean.  Lawyers  and  landowners  have  all 
the  best  of  the  game,  and  they  produce  nothing  as 
lawyers  and  landowners." 

"What  about  parsons?"  Evelyn  asked.  "The  bench 
of  bishops?" 

"Yes — add  them.   They  produce  nothing." 

"And  soldiers  ?"  Lady  Clungf  ord  said,  witH  a  merry 
twinkle. 

"Right— soldiers,  too,"  Ed  replied.  "Now  I  be- 
lieve every  one  should  be  a  unit  in  the  army  of  pro- 
duction. Productive  employment  is  what  is  wanted." 

"Ed,  I'm  an  old  Tory — or  was,"  Lady  Clungford 
cried,  "but  I'm  afraid  if  I  stay  and  listen  to  you  I'll 
lose  my  character  or  my  principles.  What  a  Radical 
you  are !  Me,  listening  to  such  seditious  stuff.  Well, 
I  must  go.  God  bless  you.  And  if  you're  going  to 
change  things  do  make  sure  you  don't  make  Britain 
any  worse  than  it  is." 

"Could  any  one  do  that?"  Clarice  asked. 

Christmas  passed  away  leaving  the  houses  where 
the  slain  were  mourned  far  sadder  and  emptier.  Sir 
Alfred  was  able  to  leave  his  room  after  lying  abed 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  307 

lor  two  days.  Again  the  restless  mania  took  hold  of 
him  and  he  wished  to  be  off  to  town  at  once.  Ed 
tried  to  persuade  him  to  stay  at  the  Lodge  and  enjoy 
the  country,  see  the  farm,  all  the  improvements  and 
preparations  for  a  busy  spring.  No,  he  ought  to  be  on 
the  spot — in  town — he  might  be  required  any  moment. 
Besides,  the  news  did  not  come  through  the  papers. 
He  must  go  up  to  hear  what  was  being  said  in  the 
inner  circles. 

"I'll  come  down  later  on,"  he  said.  "Not  this  week 
— well,  I  might — on  Saturday,  say." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  Crowington?"  Ed 
asked. 

"I  don't  know!  Hang  the^place!  If  I  could  sell  it." 

"Better  let  me  cut  it  up  for  small  holdings." 

"Now,  the  Government  might  take  half  one's  in- 
come!" he  cried  in  amazement. 

"Well,  what  about  that?  You  can  live  on  half  you 
make.  There  are  only  mother  and  Fred — if  he  is " 

"Alive?   A  prisoner?" 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  and  then 
dropped  their  eyes. 

"You  must  give  up  that  money,  dad.  You'll  not 
know  a  day's  happiness  till  you  do.  I'm  sure  of  that. 
You  say  you  can't  rest,  can't  eat,  can't  sleep.  Life  at 
the  club  is  unendurable.  Shall  I  tell  you  why?  It  is 
because  you  have  lost  us  all  now.  Robert,  Fred — 
well,  they're  gone.  Mother !  I'll  not  go  into  that  But 
Ellen  and  Cricket — they  are  dead  against  you,  dad. 
Now,  isn't  it  worth  while  thinking  of  us?  Don't  we 
deserve  some  consideration  ?  You  talk  about  your  pa- 
triotism and  your  duty  to  the  Government,  but  what 
about  your  patriotism  and  your  duty  to  us?  You 


308  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

must  recognize  we  have  our  lives  to  live.  We  are 
young — we  have  to  choose  our  own  way  of  expressing 
ourselves.  We  don't  agree  with  you.  And  we  don't 
think  you're  doing  right  in  giving  yourself  body  and 
soul  to  this  old  man's  war.  Besides,  it's  rotten  for  us 
to  think  you  haven't  the  strength  of  mind  to  flaunt 
public  opinion  and  do  what  you  know  is  just." 

He  sat  and  listened  to  Ed  as  quietly  as  a  child  who 
knows  it  is  in  disgrace.  It  was  pitiable. 

"You're  right — quite  right/'  he  mumbled.  "I  agree, 
Ed.  But " 

"But  what?" 

"I  can't  get  out  You  must  all  think  what  you 
choose.  I'm  sorry,  but — well,  there  it  is." 

As  Ed  saw  him  drive  away  in  the  car,  he  thought 
his  father  personified  the  Government.  He  knew  what 
was  right,  but  he  could  not  do  it.  The  system  was 
false,  rotten,  through  and  through,  but  it  must  be  car- 
ried on.  He  knew  war  was  horrible,  but  shells  must 
be  made  and  thousands  of  the  best  of  Britain's  men 
must  be  hustled  away  to  the  shambles.  But  he  had 
not  this  time  referred  to  Christianity  and  western  civ- 
ilization. That  was  all  to  the  good.  Cant  was  forgot- 
ten in  his  extremity.  His  religious  associations  were 
broken  off,  or  rather  they  broke  off.  A  year's  desue- 
tude attacked  them  at  the  core  and  found  them  rotten. 

Ellen  saw  her  mother  every  day.  Ben  came  down 
for  long  week-ends  to  Colwyn.  It  was  strange  to  see 
Lady  Horton-Birkett  in  deep  mourning,  spending  her 
days  in  visiting  hospitals  and  asylums.  She  came 
twice  a  day  to  see  Ellen,  but  she  stayed  only  for  a  few 
minutes. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  309 

"I'm  spending  all  the  money  I  can  on  these  places," 
she  said,  after  telling  Ellen  of  the  work  of  the  estab- 
lishments. 

"I  didn't  think  you  had  the  nerve  for  that  kind  of 
work/'  Ellen  remarked. 

"I  didn't,  but  since  Fred — and  now  Robert  is  dead* 
I  feel  I  must  be  there  at  the  hospitals  all  the  time. 
I've  done  so  little  of  real  service  in  my  life,  and  now 
I've  begun — so  late — to  try  what  I  can  do — I  feel  I 
must  crowd  as  much  into  a  day  as  possible.  You  see 
you  all  are  grown  up,  and  you  don't  need  me  now — 
and  dad  is — up  in  town.  He  seems  to  get  on  without 
us." 

"Funny,  how  we've  broken  up,  isn't  it?"  Ellen  ob- 
served. "Like  Deacon  Jones'  One  Horse  Shay.  But 
without  it's  perfect  construction.  I  wonder  what  will 
happen  when  the  men  come  back  again.  Ben  says 
revolution.  Well,  revolution  is  going  on  now.  The 
whole  thing  is  ready  to  go  to  pieces.  Ben  says  the 
baby  has  the  future — we're  done  for.  Too  old  for 
the  great  change  that  will  come  and  not  young  enough 
to  take  part  in  the  fight.  It  will  take  a  generation  at 
least  to  clear  away  the  debris  of  the  old  systems.  Dad 
is  the  type — better,  in  many  ways,  than  the  type.  Im- 
pervious to  Radical  change.  Liberal  in  name  and  Tory 
in  spirit.  A  good-natured  sham — one  that  not  only 
deceives  you,  but  one  that  deceives  itself.  It  learns 
nothing.  'All's  well  with  me — don't  unsettle  things/ 
That's  it  Religion  is  its  hobby,  and  trade  is  its  relig- 
ion ;  politics  the  road  to  social  advancement,  and  party 
the  god  of  honors.  A  system  without  soul,  devoid  of 
art.  Mere  dross !" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  Munitions  Act  was  the  cause  of  all  the  trou- 
ble. Sir  Alfred  had  been  warned  by  his  managers 
of  the  growing  discontent  of  his  employees.  At  the 
board  meeting  held  to  consider  the  threatened  strike 
of  all  the  men  at  the  big  works  in  Strathclyde,  he 
tried  to  shift  his  responsibility  by  saying  the  workers 
were  for  all  intents  and  purposes  in  the  employ  of  the 
Government,  that  since  the  Act  came  into  force  they, 
as  a  firm,  held  no  direct  control  over  the  men.  "We 
are  victims  of  the  system,"  he  said. 

Sir  Redvers  Foote  interjected:  "The  profits  are 
ours!" 

"True— what  is  left  after  taxation/'  Sir  Alfred 
said. 

Old  Sir  Redvers  was  a  stickler  for  accuracy,  even 
when  his  pocket  was  touched,  and  though  he  suffered 
no  qualms  about  how  wars  were  fought,  he  did  not 
like  to  be  associated  with  a  firm  that  took  extreme 
advantage  of  employees  under  one-sided  agreements. 
He  said: 

"The  fact  of  the  matter  is — and  to  put  it  bluntly, 
my  lords  and  gentlemen,  I  think  it's  a  damn  shame — 
we're  not  carrying  out  our  promises  to  the  men.  I 
knew  this  Munitions  Act  would  get  us  into  trouble,  I 
told  you  so.  Confound  it,  I  hate  tyranny.  And  I'll  see 
the  Government  far  enough  before  they'll  make  me 
responsible  for  their  persistent  blundering.  These  men 
must  be  released  at  once  and  the  Act  amended  fairly 
or  I'll  resign." 

310 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  311 

Three  of  the  men  had  been  imprisoned  for  refusing 
to  work,  and  in  protest  all  their  Strathclyde  em- 
ployees threatened  to  "down  tools"  if  they  were  not 
set  at  liberty  within  three  days.  The  position  was  crit- 
ical. So  much  so  indeed  that  the  board  had  asked 
their  Strathclyde  manager  to  come  to  town  with  the 
men's  delegates  and  lay  their  case  before  the  direct- 
ors. Both  Ben  and  Ellen  had  written  to  Sir  Alfred 
urging  him  to  act  in  the  interests  of  the  men  before! 
there  was  a  great  strike.  It  was  at  Ben's  instigation 
the  special  board  meeting  was  called.  He  was  closely 
in  touch  with  the  unions  and  knew  just  how  the  mat- 
ter stood. 

"I  should  like  to  know  where  we  stand,"  Lord  Cin- 
toul  said.  "I  am  informed  the  Government  are  run- 
ning up  acres  of  gigantic  State  factories  all  over  the 
place.  The  site  for  one  of  'em,  I  am  told,  covers 
thirty-two  square  miles,  and  has  upon  it,  circling 
round  all  the  sheds,  no  less  than  forty  miles  of  rail- 
way track.  -Now,  that  is  a  very  serious  matter  for  us 
to  consider.  And  I  should  like  to  know  if  we  are  to 
be  left  high  and  dry  when  these  State  factories  are 
ready  to  turn  out  shells  and — a — things." 

It  was  a  serious  business,  and  the  directors  looked 
anxiously  at  Sir  Alfred  for  a  reply. 

"The  demand  is  unlimited,  and  I  am  assured  no  ac- 
tion of  Government  in  this  respect  need  cause  us  the 
slightest  concern,"  he  said.  "Now  should  we  have 
these  men  in  and  hear  what  they  have  to  say  for  them- 
selves ?" 

It  was  agreed.  And  the  delegates  were  ushered  into 
the  room.  It  was  arranged  that  one  delegate  should 
State  the  grievances  of  the  men;  another,  the  defects 


312  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

in  the  Munitions  of  War  Act ;  and  a  third,  the  amend- 
ments which  would  satisfy  the  workers. 

Mr.  Ferguson  said  the  working  of  the  Act  ha'd  put 
the  men's  backs  up,  without  a  doubt.  They  were  sore 
— very.  In  all  about  one  million  were  affected,  and  a 
big  proportion  of  the  men  embittered  and  angry. 

"The  situation  is  really  bad.  For  the  papers  don't 
report  these  cases.  It's  like  a  totally  new  criminal 
law  they  have  to  face.  A  law  that's  administered 
harshly  and  solely  in  the  interests  of  the  capitalists — 
•employers,  I  mean." 

"That  is  their  view,  Mr*  Ferguson/'  Sir  Alfred  re- 
marked. 

"It's  their  view  I'm  stating,  Sir  Alfred.  And  I  think 
their  view  is  about  right.  For  every  day  in  the  week, 
on  an  average  between  sixty  and  seventy  cases  are 
heard  in  the  new  Munitions  Courts.  You  must  under- 
stand the  chairman  of  the  court  has  all  the  power  of 
a  tribunal.  He  gives  its  decision  and  pronounces  sen- 
tence, against  which  there  is  no  appeal." 

"Think  of  that,"  Sir  Redvers  exclaimed. 

Mr.  Ferguson  finding  he  had  a  sympathizer  turned 
at  once  to  Sir  Redvers:  "Aye,  think  o'  it.  And  the 
two  lay  'assessors' — one  supposed  to  protect  the  work- 
man and  the  other  to  protect  the  employer — being  un- 
able to  take  any  effective  shares  in  the  proceedings." 

"Monstrously  unfair " 

Sir  Alfred  cut  Sir  Redvers  short  by  tapping  the 
table:  "Will  you  address  me,  Mr.  Ferguson?" 

"Your  pardon,  Sir  Alfred.  Well,  as  I  was  going  to 
say,  it's  strange  how  seldom  an  employer  is  fined  and 
how  often  a  workman  has  to  pay  up.  That's  what 
makes  the  men  believe  the  Act  is  drawn  wholly  in  the 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  313 

interests  of  the  masters.  The  men  have  had  to  pay 
thousands  of  pounds  in  fines." 

"Thousands,  Mr.  Ferguson?"  Sir  Alfred  cried  in- 
credulously. 

"Aye,  thousands,  Sir  Alfred.  That's  why  you  have 
wide-spread  discontent.  The  three  men  who  are  now 
in  prison  in  default  of  fines  mean  to  stay  there  in  pro- 
test against  the  Act.  I'll  not  go  into  the  matter  of 
offense.  But  the  Government  did  promise  to  hold  an 
official  inquiry.  They  didn't  do  it.  Another  promise 
broken,  the  men  say.  Now  the  men,  nearly  one  hun- 
dred thousand,  through  their  delegates  have  sent  an 
ultimatum  to  the  Government  to  release  the  imprisoned 
men  within  three  days  or  there'll  be  a  general  stop- 
page of  work  in  the  district.  That's  all  I  have  got  to 
say,  Sir  Alfred." 

Mr.  Ferguson  backed  away  from  the  table  and 
made  room  for  his  colleague,  Mr.  Rogers. 

"You  speak  on  the  defects  of  the  Act,  Mr.  Rog- 
ers?" Sir  Alfred  asked. 

"Yes,  that  is  what  I  am  here  for,  Sir  Alfred.  In 
the  first  place  let  me  say  there  was  no  need  for  the 
Act.  The  old  law  which  gave  an  employer  the  power 
to  summon  in  the  County  Court  a  workman  for  ab- 
senting himself  from  work,  unpunctuality,  being 
'drunk  on  duty,  and  so  on,  was  quite  sufficient.  The 
men  understand  that.  Their  complaint  is  the  Muni- 
tions Act  is  solely  a  weapon  forged  by  the  Government 
to  kill  trade  unions.  The  Act  takes  from  the  work- 
man his  right  to  leave  a  situation  where  he  feels  that 
he  is  not  properly  treated.  It  is  a  penal  offense  for 
the  worker  to  leave  his  employer's  service  without  the 
employer's  consent — even  at  the  expiration  of  his 


314  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

contract  and  with  due  notice.  Then  it  is  a  penal  of- 
fense for  the  men  in  any  workshop  to  refuse  to  un- 
dertake a  new  job,  however  low  may  be  the  wage  or 
piece-work  price  that  the  foreman  offers.  The  men 
say  these  restrictions  are  a  reversion  to  the  Statute  of 
Laborers  of  the  Middle  Ages." 

"Keep  to  the  question,  Mr.  Rogers.  We  can  dis- 
pense with  history,"  Sir  Alfred  rapped  out 

"That's  true,  Sir  Alfred.  When  I  was  interrupted 
I  was  going  to  add  the  Munitions  Court  usually  re- 
fuses to  listen  to  the  workman's  plea  that  the  rate  of 
wages  that  he  was  offered  was  not  the  proper  rate,  or 
was  not  according  to  either  the  contract  or  the  under- 
taking of  the  Munitions  Department.  The  court 
won't  discuss  wages  or  hours  of  labor  or  conditions 
of  employment.  The  jurisdiction  of  the  court  extends 
only  to  enforcing  the  employer's  will.  The  court  has 
held  it  to  be  an  offense  for  any  workman,  after  he  has 
worked  the  full  contract  day,  to  refuse  to  work  over- 
time, including  night  work  and  Sundays,  whether  or 
not  anything  extra  is  paid  for  such  overtime." 

"Impossible,"  Sir  Alfred  cried. 

"Mr.  Rogers,  please,"  Lord  Cintoul  exclaimed. 

"Can't  believe  that,"  Sir  Redvers  gasped. 

"It's  perfectly  true — perfectly,"  Mr.  Rogers  said, 
with  an  emphatic  tap  on  the  table.  "Besides,  a  work- 
man may  not,  even  after  due  notice,  change  his  em- 
ployment— not  even  from  one  munition  factory  to  an- 
other— in  order  to  get  higher  wages — however  low 
may  be  the  wages  he  is  getting." 

The  board  looked  in  amazement  at  the  delegate 
and  then  shifted  uncomfortably  about  on  their  chairs. 
They  were  the  employers,  but  Sir  Alfred  was  the  only 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  315 

member  of  the  board  who  had  put  his  nose  into  a 
factory  since  the  war  began. 

Mr.  Rogers  paused  while  his  eyes  slowly  looked  the 
directors  over:  "Under  the  Act  the  employers  can 
make  rules  and  change  them  without  the  workmen's 
consent.  And  he  can  enforce  any  arbitrary  rule  by 
fine.  The  other  week  one  of  your  men  was  fined 
twenty  pounds,  the  loss  of  four  weeks,  yet  he  was 
not  allowed  to  leave  the  employment.  It  has  been  held 
in  many  cases  that  although  a  workman  may  not,  with- 
out his  employer's  consent,  go  off  to  another  situa- 
tion, the  employer  is  not  bound  to  give  him  work  or 
wages.  The  men  call  it  the  Ball  and  Chain  Act  Num- 
bers of  cases  occur  in  which  workmen  are  told  to 
'stand  by'  because  materials  are  not  ready,  or  because 
there  are,  for  the  moment,  no  more  jobs.  Hours  are 
lost,  sometimes  whole  days,  weeks  indeed,  earning 
nothing  when  the  men  know  other  firms  want  their 
services  and  would  pay  high  wages.  But  the  em- 
ployer will  not  give  the  men  their  discharge  certificate 
without  which  no  other  employer  dare  engage  them." 

Mr.  Hume  told  the  board  how  the  Act  should  be 
amended.  Then  the  delegates  left  the  room. 

Left  to  themselves  the  directors  passed  away  an 
hour  in  heated  discussion.  Sir  Alfred  was  blamed  for 
the  whole  trouble.  Though  he  strove  to  make  the  board 
understand  he  was  not  the  Government,  that  he  told 
them  he  disliked  the  Act  from  the  first,  they  were  not 
appeased  and  reminded  him  that  they  relied  wholly  on 
his  judgment  and  business  experience  to  keep  the  firm 
free  of  criticism. 

The  board  rose  without  reaching  a  Hecision.  But 
two  days  later  they  heard  that  the  imprisoned  men 


316 


had  been  released,  their  fines  paid  by  some  person  or 
persons  unknown  to  the  men. 

Sir  Alfred  went  out  after  nightfall  very  seldom 
now.  He  dined  at  the  club,  and  loafed  about  the 
smoke  room  smoking,  and  the  reading-room  dozing. 
News  from  the  front  interested  him  so  little  now  he 
scarcely  ever  stopped  in  the  spacious  hall  to  read  the 
telegrams.  Sometimes  he  chatted  with  old  acquaint- 
ances, but  not  for  long ;  even  conversation  was  a  bore. 

One  night,  however,  he  met  his  old  friend  Lord 
Parkgate  who  was  in  town  to  meet  a  wounded  nephew 
expected  home  from  Servia. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Birkett,  eh?" 

"Yes.    Sorry  to  hear  of  your  losses,"  Sir  Alfred  said. 

"Awful,  isn't  it?  You,  too,  eh?  You've  caught  it. 
Very  sorry — very.  Well,  when's  it  going  to  end — or 
is  it  the  end  of  the  world?  What  d'l  tell  you,  eh?" 

Sir  Alfred  thought  of  the  day  he  spoke  to  Parkgate 
on  the  terrace  of  the  House.  It  seemed  ages  ago — 
so  long  ago  it  seemed  he  had  to  look  down  a  long  nar- 
rowing vista  of  months  which  lengthened  like  years 
to  fix  his  mind  on  that  day  before  the  war  when  his 
old  friend  told  him  his  fears. 

"And  all  we  toiled  for  gone,  Birkett  Like  wastrels 
we  think  of  the  day  we  came  into  our  inheritance. 
But  we've  got  to  go  through  with  it.  You,  who  got 
us  into  it*  must  get  us  out  of  it." 

Sir  Alfred  was  too  weary  to  protest  against  the  sug- 
gestion that  he  got  any  one  into  it.  He  lay  back  in  his 
chair  and  surrendered  himself  up  to  the  scolding  of 
the  old  peer.  Parkgate  was  one  of  the  small  school  of 
Radical  aristocrats  that  fostered  the  movements  of 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  317 

peace,  cooperation  and  financial  reform  in  Glad- 
stone's palmy  time.  But  he  had  not  changed.  He 
stood  firmly  all  through  the  war  for  the  ideas  of  his 
early  days. 

"Plenty  of  shells,  now?"  Parkgate  asked,  without  a 
sneer. 

"Yes." 

"Men  working — sticking  at  it?" 

"Y-e-s — most  of  them." 

"They'll  have  it  in  for  us  when  this  is  over.  You 
look  out  for  squalls.  Glad  I'm  not  in  the  shell  busi- 
ness, Birkett.  Wish  you  were  out  of  it — 'pon  my  soul 
I  do." 

"Why?" 

"Men  will  give  you  all  a  lot  to  think  about  some 
day — you  see!" 

"Perhaps  you're  right,"  Sir  Alfred  muttered,  rais- 
ing himself  up  and  looking  at  Parkgate. 

"Oh,  you  feel  it,  too— do  you  ?" 

"We're  having  an  awful  time.  It's  that  abominable 
Munitions  Act." 

"Abominable !  My  dear  Birkett,  it  is  not  nice— not 
nice.  Talk  about  Russia!  Dear,  dear,  dear.  And  to 
think  old  Radicals  like  you  and  me  letting  that  go  on. 
We'll  catch  it  some  day.  Maybe  I'll  be  dead  and 
buried  before  they  start  on  me.  But  you're  younger— 
and  besides  you've  been  benefited  by  it." 

Again  the  wish  to  get  out  and  be  free  of  all  the 
trouble  rose  in  his  mind.  If  he  could  only  do  what 
Ed  wished  him  to  do.  Besides,  there  were  the  masses, 
and  they  had  a  way  of  surging  over  after  a  war  and 
punishing  at  the  polls  the  party  that  conducted  the 
war.  He  thought  of  the  Boer  War  and  Sir  Henry 


318  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Campbell-Bannerman.  He  was  traduced  and  reviled 
— called  a  pro-Boer,  but  the  masses  within  three  short 
years  made  him  prime  minister. 

"Did -you  see  what  the  Times  said  about  it?"  his 
lordship  asked. 

"Yes,  I  read  it" 

"Made  me  feel  deuced  shaky,  Birkett  It  did  really. 
The  land  of  the  free,  eh?  Well,  damn  Prussia,  if  she 
hasn't  fixed  her  devilish  methods  on  our  lot.  And  to 
think  of  our  lads  giving  their  lives  up  for  this — this !" 

"Can't  be  helped.  But  then  it's  only  for  the  dura- 
tion of  the  war." 

"That's  what  they  tell  us.  But  I'm  afraid  there'll 
be  more  need  for  it  after  the  war.  Between  ourselves." 

Sir  Fergus  Paulton  came  into  the  room  and  stood 
by  the  door  looking  to  see  if  he  knew  any  one  there. 
Suddenly  he  saw  Sir  Alfred  and  went  over  to  him. 

"My  dear  Alfred — how  are  you?"  Paulton  cried. 
"Oh,  Lord  Parkgate!  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Better 
news  to-night.  Italy's  sending  men  to  Greece,  and 
Russia's  going  to  teach  the  Bulgarians  a  lesson.  It 
will  be  all  over  in  the  spring.  You  got  my  letter, 
Alfred?" 

"Thanks,  Fergus,  yes.  It  was  kind  of  you.  A  sad 
loss." 

"Very.   Evie,  quite  well?" 

"Yes — she's  away — in  North  Wales." 

"North  Wales,"  Paulton  cried  in  surprise.  "I  re- 
member. My  niece  said  she  saw  her.  Is  it  near  Holy- 
well  she  is  staying?" 

"Yes — somewhere  near.  My  daughter  Ellen  is 
down  there." 

Sir     Alfred     felt     uncomfortable.      Somehow     he 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  319 

dreaded  every  coming  word  of  Paulton's.  Could  He 
turn  the  subject?  What  would  he  say  next? 

"Is  she?  Really!  Well,  you'll  laugh,  but  we've 
had  a  funny  argument  about  your  wife." 

It  was  no  use.  Paulton  was  off  on  a  story  and,  as 
Sir  Alfred  knew,  there  was  no  polite  way  of  stop- 
ping him  once  he  began.  Paulton  swung  his  glasses 
round  and  round  his  finger  which  he  held  stretched 
out,  cocked  his  head  up,  closed  his  eyes  and  chuckled 
to  himself.  He  was  vastly  amused  about  something. 

"My  niece — Mrs.  Woods — you  know.  She  has 
been  staying  in  Wales  for  a  month.  Nerves — had  to 
keep  quiet.  Well,  one  day  she  saw  a  lady  go  into  a 
Catholic  church — a  lady  she  thought  she  knew.  Then 
another  day  she  saw  the  same  lady  come  out  of — the 
same  Catholic  church.  She  had  a  good  look  at  her 
and  said  to  herself  that  is  Lady  Horton-Birkett  She 
told  my  nephew  when  he  got  down  for  the  week-end. 
He  'didn't  believe  it — pooh-poohed  the  notion — said  it 
was  preposterous  and  chaffed  his  wife,  said  she 
must  have  been  mistaken." 

He  slapped  Sir  Alfred  on  the  knee  and  laughed. 

"Alfred,  my  dear  fellow,  think  of  it!  Your  wife 
going  to  a  Catholic  church.  Well,  one  Sunday  when 
my  nephew  was  down  there  the  same  lady  came  in 
a  motor.  My  niece  and  nephew  began  to  chaff  each 
Other  again.  So  Woods  ran  out  and  asked  the 
chauffeur  whose  motor  he  was  driving.  And  what 
do  you  think  he  said?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Lady  Horton-Birkett's.  Fancy!  Well,  when  they 
told  me  I  roared.  Alfred's  wife  going  to  a  Catholic 
Church!" 


320  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

Paulton  stopped  laughing  suddenly  and  looked  at  the 
faces  of  his  friends.  There  was  a  long  awkward  pause. 

"Well,"  Parkgate  exclaimed.  "What  is  there  fun- 
ny about  that?" 

"Don't  you  think  it's  funny,  Alfred?"  Paulton  in- 
quired in  a  subdued  tone. 

"No,  I  don't,  Fergus,"  he  said,  rising  and  looking 
at  his  watch.  "My  wife  is  a  Catholic.  Now  I  think  I'll 
trot  off  to  bed.  I'm  not  feeling  very  well.  Good  night." 

His  lordship  and  Paulton  watched  him  leave  the 
room. 

"Good  gracious,"  Sir  Fergus  gasped.  "A  Catholic  ?" 

"Wasn't  she  a  Willis?"  Parkgate  asked. 

"Yes— y-e-s— all  Church— all!" 

"Urn!  thought  so.    Strange!" 

"What  a  blow!" 

"Is  it?" 

"I  should  say  so." 

"Well,  I'd  rather  be  in  her  shoes  than  his.  Good 
night,  Paulton." 

"Eh?  Oh!  Yes!  Goodnight." 

"So  it  is  known,"  he  thought,  when  he  reached  his 
room.  Paulton  was  a  chatterbox,  and  Parkgate  was 
no  oyster.  But  could  such  secrets  be  kept?  It  was 
sure  to  leak  out  some  day.  And  the  world  would 
take  it  at  first  in  just  the  same  way  as  Paulton  did. 
Preposterous,  it  would  seem.  Then  when  it  had  to 
believe  it,  the  world  would  be  just  as  shocked. 
But  why  should  the  world  be  shocked  ?  What  world  ? 
The  same  one  that  was  shocked  at  German  Kultur? 
His  thought  ran  on  in  a  haze  of  contradiction.  Clear 
thinking  was  not  his  specialty.  Yet  he  felt  somehow 
that  the  dreaded  thing  called  "world"  opposition  was 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  321 

a  flimsy  bogy  that  downright  good  sense  could  put 
to  flight  if  only  one  had  the  will  to  do  it.  Was  every- 
body half  right  and  half  wrong?  Was  there  good 
in  everything  and  every  one  but  the  "world"  was  too 
obtuse  to  find  it?  What  was  he  worrying  himself 
about?  His  wife  was  a  Catholic.  The  religion  of 
One  of  the  Allies.  Well,  he  was  a  non-conformist, 
and  she  was  an  Anglican  when  he  married  her. 
Suppose  the  war  were  to  drive  him  to  atheism  or 
to  agnosticism.  Ideas  change.  War  was  changing 
Britain  fast  Who  ever  dreamed  a  Liberal  minister 
would  practically  reenact  and  reaffirm  the  Statute 
of  Laborers.  What  a  muddle  and  a  mess ! 

He  lay  for  hours  tossing  about,  then  changing  his 
pillow,  shaking  up  the  bolster,  lying  on  this  side,  then 
on  that,  sometimes  counting  a  hundred,  counting 
again,  shutting  his  mind  to  all  thoughts  and  won- 
dering if  he  were  really  not  thinking  of  anything. 
It  was  gray  dawn  when  he  fell  asleep,  after  angrily 
damning  the  twittering  sparrows  on  his  window-sill. 
He  dreamed  that  he  was  the  Government  and  his 
family  the  nation.  They  were  gathered  around  him — 
moody,  sullen,  divided.  He  had  addressed  them  in 
flowing  periods,  telling  them  how  he  had  spent  his 
life  building  up  a  great  empire — business.  He 
showed  how  his  firm  carried  its  interests  nearly  all 
Over  the  world.  His  trade  was  colossal.  Theje  was 
nothing  like  it  on  the  earth.  Then  his  family  through 
the  spokesman  said :  "That  is  all  very  true.  But  we 
.don't  want  it.  You  have  spent  your  energy  and  your 
money  in  vain.  The  price  you  ask  us  to  pay  for  it 
all  is  far,  far  more  than  it  is  worth  to  us/' 


CHAPTER  XXV 

DAYTIME  fires  do  not  light  up  the  heavens,  but  the 
wind  blew  from  east  northeast  and  great  volumes 
of  smoke  were  wafted  over  Clungford  Hill.  Evelyn 
was  at  the  nursery  window  playing  with  the  child 
when  she  noticed  the  black  cloud  of  swirling  smoke 
in  the  east.  Lady  Clungford  was  in  her  grounds 
talking  to  her  gardener  when  he  drew  her  attention 
to  the  heavy  cloud  above  the  hill. 

"Some  ricks  afire,  my  lady,"  he  said. 

"Isn't  hay  dear  enough?"  she  muttered. 

Crowington  village  was  out  and  in  a  state  of  turb- 
ulent alarm.  The  Manor  was  in  a  blaze  before  the 
fire  brigade  could  be  got  together.  It  was  a  primitive 
institution  and  the  members  were  scattered,  most  of 
them  away  from  home,  for  it  was  Minsterley  market 
day.  Ebenezer  Tonks  was  not  there  to  give  orders 
and  Mrs.  James,  the  custodian  of  the  key  of  the 
shed  where  the  pump  engine  was  housed,  was  not 
at  home.  Babbicombe  took  the  law  into  his  own 
hands  and  broke  open  the  door  of  her  cottage.  A 
dozen  willing  hands  ransacked  her  room  for  the 
key  without  finding  it.  Then  Babbicombe  resorted 
to  strong  measures  and  forced  open  the  door  of  the 
shed.  When  the  engine  started  for  the  manor  the 
great  house  of  the  Horton-Birketts  was  a  roaring 
furnace.  No  one  thought  of  sending  to  Wilmslow, 
all  were  engrossed  in  the  fire. 

"How'd  it  start?"  Babbicombe  shouted  to  a  serv- 
ant ringing  her  hands  in  the  drive. 

322 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  323 

"Fat  I  Cook  upset  a  pan  o'  fat  on  the  kitchen  fire," 
she  cried.  "What'll  'er  ladyship  say.  Oh,  dear  me  I" 

The  primitive  implements  of  the  Crowington  fire 
brigade  were  almost  useless.  They  pumped  in  vain. 
Their  efforts  made  little  or  no  impression  on  the  fire. 
The  old  timbers  and  plaster  burned  like  tinder,  and 
the  roof  soon  crashed  in  with  a  terrible  roar.  Sparks 
flew  far  away,  glistening  on  the  wind  for  a  while 
then  leaving  the  air  full  of  charred  sticks  and  smuts. 

"An'  only  the  servants  at  'ome  to  look  after  it," 
old  Billy  Egerton  mumbled,  as  he  peered  through 
his  half-closed  lids  at  the  crumbling  house.  "It  do 
be  a  shame — truly  it  do.  Only  ould  men  at  'ome, 
too,  as  can  do  nothin' — the  young  gone  when  they'd 
bin  most  use." 

The  fire  had  been  burning  an  hour  when  Ed 
learned  the  news.  One  of  his  men  ran  in  and  told 
him  the  postman  in  passing  had  shouted  out,  "Crow- 
ington Manor's  afire." 

Ed  drove  the  chestnut  all  the  way  up  the  hill  road 
at  a  gallop,  but  when  he  turned  down  the  long  brow 
which  led  to  the  village  he  eased  the  horse.  He 
could  see  haste  was  unnecessary.  A  long  trail  of  folk 
was  winding  up  the  lower  road  going  back  to  Crow- 
ington village.  The  house  was  a  roofless  ruin.  When 
he  drove  up  to  the  front  Babbicombe  told  him  the 
story.  Save  for  the  odd  pieces  of  furniture,  a  few 
pictures  and  marbles  and  rugs,  strewn  about  the 
lawn,  the  contents  of  the  house  were  destroyed. 

He  told  the  servants  to  find  lodgings  in  the  vil- 
lage, then  he  drove  to  the  post-office  and  telegraphed 
to  his  father. 


324  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Manor  burned  down  noon  to-day  little  saved, 
what  instructions?  Ed." 

Going  back  to  Wilmslow  he  met  his  wife  and 
Evelyn.  He  told  them  there  was  nothing  to  be  done. 
The  butler  would  have  the  few  pictures,  marbles  and 
rugs  removed  to  a  place  of  safety  and  store  the  odds 
and  ends  of  furniture  in  the  outbuildings.  Clarice 
and  Evelyn  were  curious  and  wished  to  see  the  ruin, 
so  they  drove  on. 

Harold  was  there  when  they  reached  the  lawn,  and 
many  county  people  had  driven  over.  Clarice  nodded 
to  this  one  and  that  one.  Evelyn  saw  nothing  but 
the  shell  of  the  house.  Babbicombe  had  decided  to 
let  it  burn  out. 

Ed  did  not  hear  from  his  father  until  next  morn- 
ing. The  telegram  was  brief: 

"Have  notified  insurance  company.    Dad." 

Sir  Alfred  had  read  of  the  fire  in  the  last  edition 
of  the  St.  Stephen's  Gazette  at  the  House  before 
he  saw  Ed's  telegram  which  had  been  sent  to  the 
club.  The  paragraph  said  the  Manor  was  destroyed 
and  then  followed  a  short  history  of  the  building. 

"So  that's  gone,  too,"  Sir  Alfred  muttered. 

Ed's  letter  told  him  the  details:  how  the  fire 
Started,  how  long  the  house  took  to  burn  and  what 
was  left.  His  father  wrote  back  saying  the  servants 
would  be  paid  a  month's  wages  and  the  cost  of  their 
belongings  lost  in  the  fire,  but  they  must  try  to  find 
employment  elsewhere. 

A  few  days  later  Sir  Alfred  left  town  for  Wilms- 
low. When  the  train  left  Euston  it  was  crowded  and 
in  his  compartment  there  were  two  wounded  officers; 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  325 

one  from  a  hospital  in  France  going  to  his  home  near 
Preston.  He  was  Major  Colne.  The  lower  part  of 
his  face  was  hidden  by  a  bandage,  and  his  right  leg 
from  the  knee  down  was  missing.  The  other  man 
was  Lieutenant  Commander  Stearns,  the  son  of  a  nat- 
uralized Austrian,  Ludwig  Strauss,  the  banker  who 
changed  his  name  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war.  Sir 
Alfred  knew  his  father.  The  soldiers  recognized 
their  traveling  companion  by  the  name  on  his  des- 
patch box  on  the  rack.  Stearns  had  lost  an  arm,  and 
his  right  knee  was  badly  smashed.  He  had  lain  at 
Cairo  for  two  months  while  the  doctors  battled  to 
save  his  leg  from  amputation.  Now  he  was  on  his 
way  to  Cumberland  to  his  father's  house  near  Pen- 
rith.  There  were  over  forty  wounded  men  on  the 
train.  Some  were  attended;  most  of  them  were  able 
to  look  after  themselves.  But  all  hobbled  more  or  less 
with  difficulty.  The  railway  servants  from  inspectors 
to  porters  acted  more  like  well-drilled  hospital  attend- 
ants than  ticket  and  luggage  men.  And  there  were 
physically  whole  soldiers  going  back  to  their  regi- 
ments soon  to  be  sent  to  the  front,  and  they  assisted 
their  wounded  comrades  in  every  way.  It  was  a 
strange  scene.  The  pity  of  it !  The  misery,  the  kind- 
liness, the  bravery  and  the  peculiar  cheeriness  of  all 
the  soldiers  struck  Sir  Alfred  as  incongruous  and  un- 
natural. He  watched  them  get  into  the  carriages 
while  a  sinking  feeling  in  the  stomach  sent  cold  chills 
creeping  over  him. 

Stearns  introduced  himselt  after  the  train  started. 
The  young  British  naval  officer  of  Austrian  blood 
was  singularly  patriotic.  As  a  rule  soldiers  say  very 
little  when  traveling  with  civilians.  Sir  Alfred  had 


326  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

noticed  that  in  his  journeys  back  and  forth  to  town. 
Stearns  was  voluble  and  particularly  vindictive.  He 
was  bitter  and  revengeful,  though  he  had  never  been 
in  Germany  or  Austria.  He  was  born  in  Britain, 
educated  at  a  well-known  school,  and  served  three 
years  in  an  engineering  yard  on  the  Clyde.  Sir  Al- 
fred thought  it  was  nauseating  to  hear  him  say: 
"These  German  and  Austrian  devils  must  be  wiped 
off  the  face  of  the  earth !"  Sir  Alfred  had  never  heard 
a  full-blooded  English  soldier  say  that  much,  and  he 
wondered  if  he  were  a  naturalized  Austrian  if  he 
could  in  similar  circumstances  speak  that  way  of  the 
French  and  British. 

"How  old  are  you?"  he  asked  Stearns. 

"Nearly  twenty-four." 

Colne  had  paid  little  attention  to  the  conversation. 
He  was  reading  a  little  book.  Sir  Alfred  noticed  him 
every  now  and  then  and  wondered  what  his  face 
must  look  like  without  the  bandage.  The  monocle 
affected  by  Colne  seemed  peculiar;  it  gave  him  a 
grotesque  appearance.  There  was  besides  a  great 
raw-looking  scar  on  his  wrist  which  attracted  Sir 
Alfred's  attention  every  time  Colne  turned  a  page  of 
his  book. 

"You've  been  at  the  Dardanelles,  Lieutenant-Com- 
mander ?" 

"Sulva  Bay,  Sir  Alfred.    Perfectly  devilish." 

"And  the  Turks,  how  do  you  feel  about  them?" 

"Oh,  they're — they're  not  bad  chaps.  Awfully  mis- 
guided. Good  soldiers — great  fighters.  It's  those 
damn  Germans.  All  their  fault." 

"Sulva  Bay  was  a  shocking  affair?" 

"Mad.    Just  mad." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  327 

Stearns  tried  to  fire  a  pipe. 

"Let  me  help  you,"  Sir  Alfred  said. 

"No,  thanks.  Must  learn  to  do  it  myself  now.  I'll 
have  lots  of  time.  I've  done  my  bit — or  I  should 
say  I've  given  my  bits.  They  say  I'll  never  be  able 
to  bend  this  knee.  No  riding,  no  golf,  no  shooting. 
Eh,  oh!  They  do  knock  you  about  these  days. 
Twenty-four  and  nothing  to  do.  Why  they  didn't 
finish  me  altogether  I  don't  know.  Their  guns  and 
shells,  God  knows,  are  things  to  finish  any  one  with. 
Ever  seen  any  of  their  shells,  Sir  Alfred?  I've  got 
some  specimens  in  that  bag." 

He  rose  and  hauled  a  biggish  bag  down  from  the 
rack.  He  opened  it — rather  proud  of  the  feat  for  a 
one-armed  man — and  took  out  some  specimens.  He 
gave  them  to  Sir  Alfred. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Stearns  asked.  "Don't  like 
the  look  of  'em,  eh  ?  Ugly  things,  aren't  they  ?" 

He  did  not  know  that  Sir  Alfred  was  a  director 
of  the  German  firm  that  made  one  of  the  shells.  He 
did  not  know  that  Sir  Alfred  started  not  because 
he  did  not  like  the  look  of  "the  ugly  things,"  but 
because  he  noticed  the  trade-mark  of  his  firm  on  the 
metal. 

Colne  watched  the  scene;  the  monocle  gave  him  a 
grotesque  appearance.  Stearns  took  the  specimens 
from  Sir  Alfred  and  replaced  them  in  his  bag. 

"I  wonder  you  keep  those  things,"  Sir  Alfred  said, 
wiping  his  hands  together.  "Don't  you,  too  ?"  he  asked 
Colne,  turning  to  him'with  a  look  of  disgust.  For  a 
few  moments  their  eyes  rested  on  Colne,  who  stared 
at  them  while  something  like  a  smile  crept  over  the 
visible  half  of  his  face.  From  his  pocket  he  took  a 


328  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

pad  and  pencil,,  and  wrote  in  a  large  flourishing 
hand : 

"Can't  speak.  Tongue  injured.  Same  kind  of 
shells  shattering  us  in  France." 

He  passed  the  pad  to  his  companions.  They  could 
not  hide  their  shocked  expressions. 

"Very  sorry,"  Sir  Alfred  muttered. 

"Beastly  hard  luck,"  Stearns  said. 

Colne  took  the  pad  and  wrote: 

"Lost  leg.  Only  out  three  days  this  time  when  it 
happened.  Been  in  hospital  three  months.  Shall  get 
tin  jaw  when  wound  thoroughly  healed.  Is  your 
son  at  Crowington?" 

Sir  Alfred  read  the  writing. 

"Ed  is  at  Wilmslow,"  he  replied.    "He  is  married." 

"Miss  Clungford?"  Colne  wrote. 

"Yes.    You  know  them  then?" 

"Yes.  Want  to  meet  them  some  3ay.  Shall  be 
staying  near  Minsterley.  Wonder  if  they  would  see 
me?" 

"Certainly — certainly — a — "  wanting  the  name. 

"Major  Colne,"  he  wrote. 

The  name  conveyed  nothing  to  Sir  Alfred. 

"Bore  you  writing?"  he  put  down. 

"No— no,  indeed." 

"Thanks.  Tell  your  son  you  saw  me.  Say  I  want 
to  speak — funny! — to  him,  please.  Will  be  at  Bridge- 
ton  House  with  the  Padgetts." 

"I  shall  let  him  know  at  once." 

Stearns  went  on  to  the  north,  but  Sir  Alfred  and 
Colne  had  to  change  at  Stafford.  At  Minsterley  they 
parted.  The  Padgetts  were  there  to  meet  the  major; 
Sir  Alfred  went  on  to  Crowington  in  the  local.  In 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  329 

that  short  journey  the  train  passed  through  a  fertile 
country  of  tens  of  thousands  of  acres.  In  the  twi- 
light lamps  in  the  cottage  and  farm  windows  shone. 
How  many  times  had  he  counted  the  dwellings  on 
both  sides  of  the  railway  line  in  all  the  thirty  years 
since  he  took  Crowington?  And  how  often  had  he 
looked  for  a  new  building?  Four  in  that  distance 
were  all  he  could  find.  Four  new  dwellings.  He 
used  to  count  the  men  and  women  in  the  fields — •, 
just  to  pass  the  time  while  the  train  puffed  along. 
How  many  were  gone?  The  empty  beautiful  coun- 
try. And  now  there  was  one  house  less,  and  that  a 
big  one,  his  own. 

The  car  was  at  the  station. 

"To  Wilmslow,  Sir  Alfred?"  Barnes  asked. 

After  a  moment's  reflection  he  replied,  "Go  down 
to  Crowington  first.  I  want  to  have  a  look  at  the 
place." 

The  lodge-keeper  was  startled  when  he  heard  the 
familiar  tooting  for  the  gate  to  be  opened.  He  ha- 
stened out  in  his  shirt-sleeves  and  tipped  his  bare- 
head  as  the  car  passed  up  the  drive.  Sir  Alfred  got 
Out  and  walked  up  and  down  the  front  surveying  the 
ruin. 

"Should  I  turn  the  car  and  put  the  light  on  it?" 
the  chauffeur  asked. 

"No,  no,  Barnes,  don't,"  he  said  sharply. 

Great  charred  beams  obstructed  the  entrance,  and 
in  the  fading  light  the  interior  seemed  like  a  crazy 
trellis  formidable  to  any  intruder. 

"Awful,  Barnes,  awful,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  car. 

"Yes,  Sir  Alfred.   Defective  flue,  they  say." 

How  warm  and  cheery  Wilmslow  looked  when  Ed 


330  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

helped  him  off  with  his  coat.  There  was  a  fragrance  he 
had  never  known  at  .Crowington.  Evelyn's  child  was 
jabbering  boisterously  in  a  distant  part  of  the  house, 
and  the  Inverness  terriers  were  gamboling  and  bark- 
ing on  the  staircase.  The  dining-room  door  was 
open;  a  log  fire  threw  bright  flashes  across  the 
dimly  lighted  table  spread  for  dinner. 

"Ellen's  here/'  Ed  said.  "Came  this  morning  from 
Wales." 

"How  is  she?" 

"Getting  fit    She  says  mother  is  all  right" 

"That's  a  blessing.    How  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"Fairly  well.    Things  are  straightening  out  now." 

They  went  to  Ed's  den.  On  the  desk  some  books 
lay  open.  Sir  Alfred  glanced  at  them  and  looked 
amused. 

"Bookkeeping,  eh?" 

"Yes — very  interesting  work.  I  like  it,  but  it's  one- 
sided just  now.  All  pay." 

Sir  Alfred  told  how  he  kept  a  set  of  books  from 
his  sixteenth  year  until  the  business  became  so  big 
he  had  to  hand  it  over  to  the  bookkeeper  of  the 
firm.  That  was  his  private  account 

"You've  mastered  writing  with  your  left  hand?" 

"Yes,  but  I'm  a  bit  slow  at  it  yet,"  Ed  replied. 

"By  the  bye,  I  came  down  with  a  Major  Colne — 
knows  you.  He  wants  to  see  you  and  Clarice." 

"Oh!" 

"He's  staying  with  the  Padgetts  outside  Minsterley. 
He's  in  a  terrible  mess." 

"Mess?" 

"Lost  a  leg,  and  half  his  jaw  gone." 

"Poor  fellow." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  331 

"Can't  speak.  He  has  to  write  on  a  pad.  His 
tongue  is  injured.  Sad  sight." 

Ed  thought  of  the  day  Clarice  drove  him  over  to 
Crowington.  He  kept  his  thought  to  himself. 

"I'll  take  you  over  to  see  the  ruin  in  the  morning," 
Ed  said,  by  way  of  changing  the  subject. 

"I've  seen  it.    Called  there  as  I  came  up." 

"What  will  you  do — rebuild  it?" 

"Rebuild?  Never!  Oh,  no.  Clear  it  all  away! 
I'm  not  sorry  it's  gone,  Ed." 

"Didn't  know  you  felt  that  way  about  it" 

"Well,  I  do.  I  made  up  my  mind  when  your 
mother  left  it  I  would  never  stay  there  again,"  Sir 
Alfred  replied. 

"And  the  land?" 

"I  don't  know.  Land  is  certainly  the  only  safe 
thing  to  hold  now.  It's  no  use  spending  any  money 
on  it.  The  taxes  will  be  fearfully  heavy  on  all  im- 
provements after  this.  We  must  stick  to  something. 
Funny,  isn't  it?  There'll  be  little  incentive  to  im- 
prove anything  when  the  war's  over.  You  see  what 
the  local  taxes  will  cost  you  when  you've  done  build- 
ing here.  Let  the  land  lie  as  it  is — it  will  be  cheaper 
in  the  end." 

"That  is  because  you  don't  need  the  income  from 
it,"  Ed  said.  "It's  a  rotten  system,  dad,  to  permit 
wealthy  men  like  you  to  hold  thousands  and  thousands 
of  acres  just  for  a  hobby.  And  at  a  time  like  this — 
well,  I  think  the  Government's  mad  to  let  you  do  it. 
They  thump  the  taxes  down  on  your  income  know- 
ing you'll  sooner  or  later  shift  them  in  the  rise  of 
prices.  What  do  you  care  for  a  fifty  per  cent,  tax  on 


332  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

your  income  ?  How  many  times  bigger  is  your  income 
than  it  was  two  years  ago?" 

"I  shall  be  one  of  the  richest  men  in  England  after 
this,"  Sir  Alfred  said  in  a  low  tone.  "I'll  retire  the 
(day  it's  over." 

Ed  sighed  wearily  and  led  the  way  to  the  dining- 
room.  Clarice  greeted  him  warmly,  but  Ellen  and 
Evelyn  merely  said:  "Well,  dad?"  They  addressed 
no  remarks  to  him  during  the  meal;  Clarice  and  Ed 
engaged  him  in  conversation.  Later  in  the  evening 
when  he  and  Ed  were  alone,  he  said:  "They  mean 
to  keep  it  up?" 

"Keep  what  up,  dad?" 

"Their  bad  manners — taking  no  notice  of  me,"  he 
said  in  a  surly  tone. 

"They  won't  take  much  notice  of  you,"  Ed  sa«d 
firmly  and  slowly. 

"I  am  their  father — they  might — " 

"Don't  let's  start  that  again.  That  you're  their 
father  doesn't  matter  a  brass  farthing.  You  know 
what  they  want  you  to  do." 

"You'll  drive  me  away  altogether." 

"I  shan't.  I  mean  to  stick  to  you  until  you  see 
daylight  through  this  business.  They  say  I'm  wast- 
ing time  bothering  with  you.  I  don't — somehow. 
I  have  a  feeling  you  will  do  the  right  thing  yet." 

"Give  up  the  money?"  his  father  exclaimed. 

"Yes." 

"All  earned  in  a  legitimate  business?" 

"All  earned  out  of  the  taxpayers." 

"I'd  like  to  see  you  folks  take  that  attitude  if  you 
weren't  otherwise  provided  for,"  Sir  Alfred  mut- 
tered in  a  low  growl. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  333 

"I  know  you've  been  thinking  that,"  Ed  said. 
"You're  quite  wrong.  We're  sorry  we  have  anything 
to  fall  back  on,  for  we  might  convince  you — if  we 
had  nothing  at  all.  Anyway,  I  shall  never  spend 
more  than  I  earn.  It  will  be  only  a  hard  working 
farmer's  living  at  best.  I  don't  want  any  more." 

"D'you  mean  to  say  you  won't  touch  any  of  the 
money  when  I'm  gone?" 

"I  mean  I  shall  never  at  any  time  take  a  penny 
from  you,  dad." 

"Then  it  will  go  to  Harold." 

"And  Fred—" 

"If  he's  alive." 

"Then  Harold  will  have  it?" 

"I'll  pour  it  down  a  sewer  first,"  Sir  Alfred  cried, 
and  brought  his  hand  down  on  the  table  with  a  thump. 
"Harold!"  he  exclaimed  with  a  sneer.  "A  thousand 
a  year,  that's  all  he'll  get.  And  out  of  the  parish  of 
Crowington  he  goes.  A  vicar!  Harold,  a  vicar?" 

"Why,  what's  he  done,  dad?" 

"All  that  high  church  nonsense  he  practised.  That 
was  what  set  your  mother  off.  He  was  responsible 
for  starting  her  on  the  road  to  Rome." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that." 

"I  do." 

"Well,  don't  get  angry.  Mother's  very  happy  and 
busy  now.  She's  doing  a  lot  of  good,  Ellen  says." 

"Thank  heaven  one  of  us  is  happy." 

It  was  late  when  Sir  Alfred  woke.  The  lovely 
balmy  morning  lay  like  an  iridescent  filmy  veil  over 
the  tranquil  meads.  A  spring  day  out  of  place.  He 
raised  his  bedroom  window  and  looked  across  the 
heath  to  the  woods  on  Clungford  Hill.  The  sun  was 


334  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

warm.  As  he  stood  at  the  window  he  caught  the 
sound  of  Ellen's  voice.  She  was  playing  with  her 
baby.  He  listened,  trying  to  catch  what  she  was 
saying.  A  surge  of  love  for  her  rose  in  his  heart, 
and  he  for  a  moment  could  scarcely  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  find  her.  He  was  sure  she  was  at  the  window 
of  the  next  room.  Then  the  words  came  distinctly 
to  him: 

"Baby,  boy.     Remember  what  mother  says,  you 
must  never  take  any  of  granddad's  money." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

GOLNE  wrote  to  Ed  asking  him  to  call  and  see 
him  at  the  Padgetts'.  He  was  not  to  make  a 
special  journey  into  Minsterley,  but  to  run  over  to 
Bridgeton  House  if  he  were  in  the  town  on  some 
.Other  errand.  Clarice  was  embarrassed  when  she 
read  the  letter.  She  turned  it  over  and  over  again 
while  her  mind  flooded  with  the  memories  of  Colne's 
visit  to  Clungford.  Her  eyes  were  anxious  when 
she  looked  at  her  husband. 

"Will  you,  Ed?"  she  asked. 

He  thought  her  voice  trembled  a  little. 

"Why  not?" 

"It  makes  me  feel  miserable  to  think — to  think  of 
him — of  that  time,"  she  faltered. 

"You  needn't.  The  poor  chap's  badly  knocked 
about,  Clarice.  Dad  told  me  he  traveled  from 
Euston  with  him." 

"Well,  if  you  wish." 

"I  must  go  into  Minsterley  in  a  day  or  two.  Sup- 
pose we  go  in  together?" 

"Very  well." 

"You  don't  mind,  old  girl?" 

"If  you  don't— no." 

The  quiet  confidence  of  her  husband  gave  her 
Courage.  He  was  so  sure  of  himself;  sure  of  doing 
the  right  thing,  of  rejecting  all  ill-feeling.  Colne 
wanted  to  see  him.  That  was  enough. 

The  room  into  which  they  were  shown  at  Bridge- 

335 


336  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

ton  House  was  large  and  dark  in  oak  and  dull  red 
hangings.  The  five  windows  looking  toward  Wales 
had  their  blinds  half  drawn.  It  was  a  gray  day  of 
heavy  rolling  banks  of  pearl  and  slate  cloud  coloring. 
A  nurse  wheeled  Colne  into  the  room  in  an  invalid's 
chair.  The  low  lights  fell  on  him  as  he  moved  near 
Clarice,  his  long  hand  outstretched  to  greet  her.  She 
was  hurt — painfully  shocked  to  see  him.  The  black 
Covering  to  the  bandage  gave  him  a  gruesome  look. 
It  passed  over  one  eye,  down  the  side  of  his  nose  and 
Qver  half  his  mouth.  The  visible  half  of  his  thin 
face  was  sallow;  the  skin  was  drawn  tight  over  his 
high  cheek-bone.  His  monocle  glinted  strangely,  and 
in  the  dull  Tialf  light,  obscured  his  eye.  The  right 
half  of  his  mouth  curled  into  something  like  a  smile, 
and  little  restless  wrinkles  spread  up  his  nostrils  to 
his  brow. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause  after  he  shook  hands 
with  his  visitors.  The  nurse  placed  the  chair  at  the 
table  and  laid  a  pad  and  pencil  before  Colne. 

"Only  fifteen  minutes,  please,"  the  nurse  said,  as 
she  withdrew  from  the  room. 

Colne  wrote :  "It's  good  of  you  to  come.   Thanks." 
He  passed  the  pad  to  them.     It  was  most  uncom- 
fortable watching  the  eye  behind  the  monocle  search- 
ing for  understanding  and  sympathy  in  their  faces. 
Clarice  was  deeply  agitated  and  blurted  out: 
"And  Billy.     Have  you  seen  Billy  lately?" 
Colne  started,  dropped  the  monocle — it  jingled  on 
his  coat  buttons — then  he  opened  his  mouth  slowly. 
His  eye  traveled  sharply  from  Clarice  to  Ed.    There 
was  a  strange  light  in  it  as  he  replaced  the  monocle 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  337 

and  took  up  the  pencil.  They  sat  in  perplexing  silence 
while  he  wrote: 

"Wanted  to  see  you  about  Jawton.  Have  heard 
the  true  story  of  what  happened  that  day.  First 
order  was  countermanded  and  the  second  order  was 
not  given  to  the  reserve.  Mist  upset  the  original 
plan.  Jawton  did  not  know  the  first  order  was  off, 
So  he  could  not  have  known  anything  about  the 
second.  It  has  beeri  discovered  he  was  at  breakfast 
and  was  not  informed.  Whole  story  came  out  just 
after  Jawton  died." 

He  gave  them  the  pad,  and  while  they  read  he 
twisted  the  pencil  nervously  in  and  out  of  his  fingers. 

"Poor  Jawton,"  Ed  sighed. 

Then  Colne  wrote: 

"That  is  the  kind  of  tiling  that  is  doing  for  us.  No 
One  to  blame.  The  fellows  are  getting  a  bit  sick  of 
all  the  blundering.  Everybody  is  now  dreadfully 
Sorry  about  you." 

Ed  read  it  and  said:  "I  don't  think  any  more 
about  it." 

"I  admire  you,"  Colne  wrote.  "You  have  acted 
splendidly  all  through  it.  When  I  got  out — shortly 
after  I  saw  you — I  was  sent  up  at  once  and  smashed 
the  third  day.  Never  thought  I  would  pull  through 
it.  Wouldn't  mind  if  I  had  my  leg.  But  very  awk- 
ward losing  my  speech.  I  want  to  tell  you  how 
badly  I  feel  about  you.  No  more  gossip  for  me. 
Glad  you  are  married.  That  makes  it  easier." 

He  passed  the  pad  to  them  and  watched  their 
faces  while  they  read  his  words. 

"Don't  think  any  more  about  it,"  Ed  said.    "The 


338  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

nurse  who  attended  Jawton  before  he  died  wrote  and 
told  me  all  about  it" 

"Jawton  told  her  the  story?"  Colne  wrote. 

"Yes.   And  she  sent  it  to  me,"  Ed  replied. 

"Good!  I  knew  old  'Brimstone'  would  turn  up 
trumps  after  all.  He  wasn't  a  bad  sort  when  you 
really  knew  him  well.  Glad  to  know  he  did  the  right 
thing." 

The  nurse  came  into  the  room  and  gave  them  the 
signal  the  interview  was  at  an  end.  Colne  pressed 
Clarice's  hand  in  his  own  bony,  yellow-looking  claws. 

"Let  me  know  if  I  can  do  anything — anything,"  Ed 
said,  giving  his  left  hand. 

They  were  going  to  the  front  door  when  the  nurse 
Came  to  Ed  and  drew  him  back  into  the  room.  Colne 
was  writing.  Ed  stood  by  waiting  for  him  to  look 
Up.  The  nurse  held  the  door.  When  Colne  passed 
the  pad  to  Ed,  he  had  written: 

"Thought  you  knew.  Billy  dead.  Killed  just  be- 
fore I  left  France.  Didn't  want  to  tell  you  while 
your  wife  was  here." 

Within  a  few  days  Ed  heard  from  the  War  Office 
that  Lord  Clungford  was  dead.  His  relatives  had 
been  notified  at  the  address  left  by  the  deceased,  one 
where  Billy  stayed  when  he  was  in  London  four 
years  ago.  Lady  Clungford  and  Clarice  took  the 
news  bravely. 

"Better  dead,  mother,  than  to  live  like  Major 
Colne,"  Clarice  said. 

"What  will  be  done  with  all  the  terrible  cripples?" 
her  mother  asked.  "  'Pon  my  word  if  I  don't  think 
the  slain  have  the  best  of  the  future  after  all." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  339 

"Something  will  have  to  be  done  to  occupy  their 
minds,"  Ed  said.  "I  can't  shake  off  the  awful  feel- 
ing I  had  when  I  saw  Colne  that  he  will  spend  the 
rest  of  his  days  in  a  bath  chair.  Then  there's  Pome- 
roy  Fanton.  I  had  a  letter  from  his  mother  a  week 
or  so  ago,  and  she  says  he  will  never  be  able  to  sit 
up.  There  was  some  chance  for  most  men — given 
decent  medical  and  surgical  facilities — in  the  old 
wars,  but  now  with  big  guns  and  high  explosives  if 
you're  hit  you  might  be  blown  to  little  pieces.  There's 
not  much  soldiering  in  this  warfare.  The  tools  have 
outgrown  the  men.  The  laboratory  has  superseded 
strategy,  and  the  aeroplane  and  the  telephone  have 
conquered  old  tactics  and  methods  of  assault.  Ma-* 
chinery  defies  Mars.  I  can't  see  what  there  is  in  it  to 
interest  the  real  soldier.  I  was  reading  the  other  day 
of  Spion  Cop  and  Colenso,  and  really  it  was  hard  to 
believe  those  battles  were  fought  about  only  fifteen 
years  ago.  The  astounding  advance  in  chemical  and 
mechanical  science  may  mean  that  no  nation  will 
dare  think  of  going  to  war  in  a  few  years  to  come. 
One  chap  already  predicts  an  invention  so  terrible 
that  war  will  be  impossible." 

"I  hope  he  will  not  sell  the  patent  to  dad,"  Evelyn 
said,  "for  he'd  be  pretty  sure  to  buy  it." 

"That  seems  to  be  the  only  hope  for  humanity— 
that  some  inventor  will  come  along  with  a  weapon 
so  terrible  nations  will  have  to  disarm  altogether," 
Ellen  remarked.  "Otherwise  we  shall  have  to  go  on 
inflicting  woe  and  suffering  until  we  breed  a  ne\v 
race  of  men.  I  wonder  though  if  women  can't  do 
something  to  put  an  end  to  all  this  slaughter.  While 
I  was  in  Wales  I  went  with  mother  to  see  the  hos- 


340  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

pitals  where  she  -is  helping.  Bed  after  bed,  ward 
after  ward,  young  men,  so  terribly  wounded  few  will 
ever  do  a  day's  productive  labor.  Then  the  place 
where  the  demented  are  housed!  It  made  me  think 
everything  is  against  the  chance  of  radical  change 
In  the  male  mind  as  things  are.  Society  has  a  vocab- 
ularly  set  against  it.  The  words — patriotism,  national- 
ism, pro-this  and  anti-that,  traitor,  coward,  shirker, 
loafer  and  so  on,  are  so'  many  effective  missiles 
which  make  the  present  generation  of  males  cringe. 
Now,  if  women  could  be  taught  by  women  to  loathe 
and  abominate  all  war  it  might  be  possible  to  make 
mothers  teach  their  boys  from  the  first  that  the 
command  'Thou  shalt  not  kill/  must  be  obeyed.  I 
think  it  rests  with  women  in  breeding  a  new  race  of 
men  to  teach  that  new  race  a  culture  which  the  men 
of  this  generation  have  neither  the  courage  nor  the 
.wit  to  do." 

"Ellen,  my  dear,  you're  an  idealist,"  Lady  Gung- 
ford  said.  "Before  you  get  women  to  do  what  you 
want,  you'll  have  to  get  them  out  of  the  habit  of  being 
sheep.  Conjugal  slaves  are  not  fit  for  your  job.  Do 
you  expect  a  lot  of  creatures  who  can  only  cackle 
about  'what  my  husband  says/  'what  my  husband 
thinks/  and  'what  my  husband  does/  to  raise  your 
new  race?  Lord!  I  don't.  Just  think  of  the  excep- 
tions! Mighty  few,  eh?  In  a  hunting  county,  of 
course,  I  must  say,  it's  different,  for  a  woman  has 
to  ride  her  own  country  and  jump  hfcr  own  fences. 
She's  a  bit  different.  Mind,  Ellen,  I  think  you're  on 
the  right  tack,  but  you  must  work  a  big  change  in 
your  women  first.  What  do  you  think,  Ed?" 

"We've  all  got  to  be  changed,"  he  said.     "All  of 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  341 

us.  The  whole  system  of  things  is  wrong.  Educa- 
tion is  rotten.  We're  not  taught  to  think  properly.  I 
know  I  wasn't.  It  seems  to  me  men  must  be  taught 
to  think  of  production,  of  conquering  nature,  of  mak- 
ing life  for  the  millions  easier.  The  more  I  think  of 
the  activities  and  wonders  of  peaceful  pursuit,  the 
more  paltry  the  conquest  and  glory  of  warfare  be- 
come. Train  all  men's  minds  away  from  war,  greed, 
.envy  and  hatred.  Give  folks  equal  opportunities,  a 
fair  start,  and  don't  let  one  section  of  society  batten 
on  another.  Let  there  be  no  State  plunder,  fio  plun- 
dering taxes  and  duties — and  there'll  be  no  parasites. 
For  parasites  make  wars.  Men  in  the  million  want 
to  be  let  alone.  Mutual  cooperation  will  do  a  lot  to 
improve  us  if  we  can  only  get  the  basis  of  existence 
for  all  fixed  justly.  What  we  want  now  is  some  one 
to  think  of  what  our  future  is  to  be !  Nobody  seems 
to  think  of  reconstruction  in  the  old  land.  Will  the 
future  be  merely  a  resumption  of  the  past?" 

"God  forbid,"  Ellen  interjected. 

"You'll  never  see  the  past  again,"  Lady  Clungford 
exclaimed.  "That's  gone,  Ed.  The  old  past  of  mere 
pleasure  for  the  few,  and  terrible  toil  for  the  mass  is 
as  dead  as  Queen  Anne.  The  future  will  be  for  the 
workers  and  soldiers.  I  feel  it  in  my  bones.  They've 
earned  it,  too,  I've  come  to  learn  that  much.  But 
what  on  earth  they  will  make  of  it  I  don't  know." 

Another  week-end  and  Sir  Alfred  came  again  to 
Wilmslow;  three  visits  in  succession  now.  He  had 
looked  eagerly  for  Friday  when  he  could  escape  from 
the  dreary  club  and  journey  down  to  the  country. 
The  work  in  London  had  become  so  monotonous  that 


342  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

whole  days  passed  away  without  an  incident  of  inter- 
est. His  business  seemed  to  proceed  without  his  aid. 
And  he  did  hot  now  mind  the  attitude  of  his  daugh- 
ters and  the  long  arguments  with  Ed  after  dinner. 
Like  political  discussions  with  his  Tory  friends  in 
the  days  gone  by  he  took  his  son's  arguments  as  a 
matter  of  course  and  forget  them  in  his  sleep.  Noth- 
ing could  change  him  for  long,  nothing  impressed^ 
him  deeply.  He  was  impervious  to  serious  change. 
His  habit  of  thought  was  engrooved,  and  his  ideas 
had  rolled  backward  and  forward  along  the  same 
patch  so  long  they  had  driven  into  a  deep  rut,  there  to 
stay.  It  had  hurt  him  to  overhear  Ellen  tell  her 
child,  not  to  take  his  money,  but  he  forgot  it  before 
he  rose  from  breakfast.  Nothing  seemed  to  stick 
but  munitions.  He  had  even  forgot  his  wife  was 
a  Roman,  though  she  wrote  regularly  every  week 
and  told  him  what  she  was  doing  and  what  she  was 
spending.  Politically  he  was  made  much  of  by  the 
Tories  and  conscriptionists,  and  he  leaned  now  more 
and  more  toward  that  half  of  the  Coalition  Govern- 
ment. 

He  and  Ed  dined  alone.  The  others  had  gone 
over  to  spend  the  evening  with  Lady  Qungford.  No 
discourtesy  was  meant  for  they  had  not  expected 
him. 

"Been  down  to  see  mother?"  Ed  asked. 

"No,  too  busy,  and  she  seems  to  get  along  all  right." 

"How  are  things  going  in  town?" 

"Fairly  well.  But  it's  winter — and  nothing  much 
is  looked  for  on  the  front." 

"What  about  this  peace  talk—" 

"All  bosh!    Peace!    Absurd!" 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  343 

Ed  got  very  little  out  of  him  at  dinner,  and  when 
they  went  to  the  smoke  room  he  dozed  off  in  a  big 
chair.  He  was  asleep  when  Ed  left  to  bring  the 
ladies  home.  When  they  returned  he  had  gone  to  bed. 

"Make  any  impression  on  dad  to-night?"  Evelyn 
asked. 

"No,  he  went  to  sleep  after  'dinner.    Seemed  tired." 

"Dear  old  Ed,  you've  undertaken  a  big  task,"  Ellen 
observed,  shaking  her  head  gravely.  "I  think  dad 
can  go  to  sleep  with  his  eyes  open  when  we  talk  to 
him.  He  keeps  his  eyes  open  to  make  you  think  he's 
listening,  but  his  mind  is  shut  tight  all  the  time.  He'll 
never  change.  When  he  was  here  last  Sunday  I  went 
down  to  your  den  to  get  a  book.  He  was  in  a  big 
chair  before  the  fire — fast  asleep — his  eyes  shut.  He 
Startled  me — I  didn't  know  he  was  in  the  room.  There 
he  sat,  hunched  up,  breathing  heavily,  his  face  all  of 
a  frown — sinister,  ruthless,  cruel.  He  looked  as  if  he 
suffered  from  a  bad  dream.  I  was  fearfully  fasci- 
nated by  him  as  he  sat  there  breathing  heavily.  Sud- 
denly it  flashed  into  my  mind  that  he  was  Mammon, 
the  Phoenician  god  of  ill-gotten  gains.  No  sooner  the 
thought  came  into  my  mind  than  he  woke  with  a 
hoarse  growl." 

They  were  silent  for  a  while. 

"Come— off  to  bed,  all  of  you/'  Ed  said.  "Fine 
day  to-morrow  and  plenty  of  work  to  do." 

When  Ed  was  alone  with  his  wife  he  took  her  in 
his  arms  and  asked: 

"Do  you  mind  dad  coming  here,  old  girl  ?" 

"Not  a  bit."     She  kissed  his  head. 

"Really?" 

"Really,  old  boy,  you  stick  to  him." 


344  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"You  haven't  given  him  up?" 

"No,  if  you  haven't." 

"I  wonder  if  he  is  impossible  after  all." 

Ed  knew  he  had  failed  to  make  the  slightest  im- 
pression, and  now  he  wondered  if  coming  to  Wilms- 
low  would  become  a  habit  with  his  father  and  nothing 
good  could  result  from  it.  He  lay  awake  for  an  hour 
thinking  of  his  father's  life.  He  traced  it  all  since 
he  was  a  lad  at  Hampstead,  the  earliest  he  could 
remember,  to  the  days  before  the  war  when  the 
institute  at  Crowington  village  was  opened.  There 
was  scarcely  an  event  of  any  consequence  worth 
remembering.  It  was  just  mere  business,  sheer  sec- 
tarianism and  steady  prosperity. 

Sir  Alfred  did  not  rise  early  enough"  to  breakfast 
with  the  household  at  Wilmslow.  And  the  fine  day 
Ed  predicted  came  mounting  over  Clungford  Hill  as 
the  postman  rattled  up  the  gate  of  the  Lodge.  The 
room  was  full  of  the  glow  of  the  fresh  sun  when  the 
maid  brought  the  letters  in.  They  were  distributed 
round  the  table  to  Ellen,  Evelyn  and  Clarice.  Among 
the  lot  for  Ed  was  a  package  from  the  front ;  it  was 
addressed  to  him  at  Crowington  Manor.  He  cut  the 
strings  and  opened  it.  A  letter  lay  on  a  piece  of 
cloth.  In  a  moment  Ed  felt  it  was  something  too 
gruesome  for  the  others  to  see.  He  tried  to  hide  it, 
but  Clarice  was  up  in  a  moment. 

"What  is  it,  Ed?"  she  asked. 

"Never  mind,  old  girl." 

"About  Billy." 

He  had  not  thought  of  him. 

"Let  me  see,  please." 

"Well,  there's  a  letter.    Let  me  read  it  first." 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  345 

"Aloud,  Ed,"  Evelyn  exclaimed. 

He  took  it  up  and  smoothed  it  out.  A  glance  told 
him  it  was  not  about  Billy. 

"It's  about  Robert,"  he  said. 

"Read  it,  do,"  Ellen  pleaded. 

Ed  ran  his  eyes  over  it  and  then  read  to  them  the 
following : 

"Dear  Birkett, 

"I  have  not  seen  you  since  school.  Perhaps  you 
have  forgot  me.  I  was  only  a  few  yards  away 
from  Robert  when  he  was  blown  to — nothing.  A 
shell  burst  at  his  feet.  I  was  wounded — not  seri- 
ously— by  some  of  the  splinters.  The  cuff  I  enclose 
lay  beside  me  when  I  got  on  my  feet.  It  is  the  only 
piece  of  his  uniform  I  could  find.  I  have  kept  it  for 
some  time  thinking  you  would  like  to  have  it.  For- 
give me  if  I  have  done  wrong.  Robert  was  a  good 
friend  to  me  and  I  mourn  his  loss  more  than  I  care 
to  say. 

"My  deep  condolences  and  sincere  regards. 
"Yours  very  truly, 

"Charles  Deys  Halpin, 
"Captain  Lancers." 

"Horrible!"  Evelyn  gasped,  as  she  glanced  at  the 
ragged  piece  of  sleeve  lying  on  the  white  table-cloth. 
"It  reminds  me  of — oh,  Ed!" 

She  sank  down  and  wept  bitterly. 

"Who  is  Halpin?"  Clarice  asked,  vexed  at  the 
effect  of  the  letter  on  Evelyn. 

"A  man  I  knew  at  school." 

"Rather  thoughtless,  wasn't  it,  to  send  that!" 

"Yes — in  a  way,"  Ed  said.  "I  suppose  he  didn't 
think."  He  turned  to  Evelyn  and  tried  to  comfort 
her.  "I'm  so  sorry,  Cricket,  don't  cry." 


346  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"Poor  Bob,"  she  sobbed.    "Just  like  Herbert." 

"It's  awful,  Ed,"  Ellen  said,  in  a  tone  of  exaspera- 
tion. "It  makes  me  positively  wicked  when  I  think 
of  dad.  You  must  show  him  that  letter  and  the  cuff. 
Perhaps  it  will  bring  his  'business'  home  to  him.  You 
must  show  him  what  it  means,  and  do  tell  him  to 
have  the  decency  to  keep  away  from  us." 

"I  don't  want  to  see  him  again,"  Evelyn  cried. 

Clarice  was  heartily  sorry  for  her  husband.  He 
stood  at  the  window  looking  disconsolate  and  gloomy. 

"Ed,  what  can  you  do?"  she  inquired,  putting  her 
arm  through  his. 

I  don't  know,  old  girl.  It  is  difficult.  I  can't 
understand  dad  at  all.  Sometimes  I  think  he  doesn't 
care  a  fig  for  our  feelings." 

"I'm  sure  he  doesn't,"  Ellen  said.  "Dad  thinks  we 
should  have  no  feelings.  According  to  his  standard 
we  are  disloyal  in  not  liking  his  business.  He  looks 
upon  me  as  a  traitor  to  home  and  sire.  We  are  his 
children  and  we  must  harbor  no  views  which  run 
counter  to  his  affairs.  Our  objections,  our  scruples, 
Our  conception  of  life,  are  not  worth  the  considera- 
tion he  gives  to  a  request  from  one  of  his  constitu- 
ents. But  I  shall  not  submit  to  taking  his  notions  of 
things  because  he  happens  to  be  my  father.  Anyway, 
the  tyranny  of  parents  must  end.  Parents  who  will 
live  in  the  hoary  discredited  past  must  stand  aside." 

It  was  late  when  Sir  Alfred  came  down  to  break- 
fast. Ed  was  out  attending  to  some  draining  near 
the  river;  his  sisters  were  in  the  nursery  with  the 
babies,  and  Clarice  was  with  her  dairyman.  The 
idming-room  was  quiet  and  pleasant,  the  sunny  room 
soothed  Sir  Alfred.  The  London  papers  had  come 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  347 

and  lay  on  the  table.  When  the  maid  brought  his 
breakfast  he  was  deep  in  an  article  on  the  financial 
situation.  The  writer  of  it  suggested  a  forced  loan. 
Between  the  kipper  and  the  ham  he  tried  to  work  out 
the  total  of  the  first  peace  budget  if  the  war  should 
end  before  the  summer.  He  put  down  columns  of 
figures  without  satisfactory  result  and  then  drew 
wriggly  lines  through  the  columns  to  obliterate  them. 
His  mood  became  fitful,  and  the  quiet  fretted  him. 
He  lit  a  cigar  and  tried  walking  around  the  table, 
wondering  what  was  going  on  in  town,  how  the  Muni- 
tions Act  was  working,  whether  the  Government 
would  amend  it.  He  went  out  into  the  hall  and 
looked  into  the  other  rooms.  The  place  seemed  de- 
serted. Where  in  the  world  were  Ellen  and  Evelyn? 
He  felt  like  shouting  out  for  some  one  to  come  and 
talk  to  him. 

When  Ed  returned  he  found  his  father  in  the  study 
looking  through  the  picture  papers. 

"That  you,  Ed?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.     Seen  the  girls?" 

"No — no  one.  It's  very  quiet  here.  What  you  been 
doing?" 

"Draining  the  marsh  down  by  the  river." 

"You're  always  at  it  now,"  his  father  observed, 
Casting  a  glance  at  Ed's  big  boots.  "Feet  wet?" 

"No." 

Ed  charged  his  pipe  and  took  a  chair.  He  looked 
at  his  father  and  wondered  how  he  should  begin. 

"Very  comfortable  this  place,  Ed." 

"Yes,  it's  all  right,"  he  muttered. 

"Any — news  ?" 

Ed  rose  and  gave  him  a  sharp  glance.     He  went 


348  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

over  to  his  desk  and  took  Halpin's  letter  and  the  cuff 
from  it. 

"Read  that,"  he  said,  as  he  placed  the  parcel  on  his 
father's  knees. 

Ed  pulled  hard  at  his  pipe  while  his  father  un- 
hooked his  glasses  and  adjusted  them.  He  turned  the 
letter  over,  then  looked  at  the  cuff. 

"What's  this?" 

"Read  the  letter." 

When  he  had  finished  reading  it,  he  glanced  at  the 
guff  again  and  handed  the  parcel  back  to  Ed. 

"Awful,  isn't  it?"  he  muttered.  Then  with  a  sigh, 
"Poor  Bob!" 

Some  weeks  were  gone  since  he  first  heard  of 
Robert's  death.  The  news  was  stale. 

"You  read  that — didn't  you?  Where  Halpin  says 
it  was  the  only  piece  of  Bob's  uniform  he  could 
find?" 

"Yes,  I  read  it" 

"That  parcel  came  this  morning — when  we  were 
at  breakfast,"  Ed  explained.  "I  opened  it — never 
dreaming  what  was  in  it  Well — the  girls  saw  it." 

"Did  they?" 

"Yes.  It  upset  them — Evelyn  especially.  I  sup- 
pose it  made  her  think  of  Herbert — " 

"Herbert?    Oh— yes,  Herbert." 

Ed  felt  sure  his  father's  mind  was  far  away. 

"Dad,  does  it  make  you  think? — this  piece  of  stuff," 
and  Ed  placed  the  cuff  in  his  father's  hand. 

"Think?" 

"Yes,  it's  a  cuff  from  Bob's  uniform,"  Ed  said, 
leaning  nearer  his  father  and  looking  at  him  sharply 
to  fix  his  attention.  "He  was  blown  to  pieces."  Then 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  349 

he  added  in  a  firm  solemn  tone:  "Do  you  under- 
stand? Blown  to  pieces,  dad — by  a  shell!" 

His  father  straightened  up  slowly  and  looked  nerv- 
ously at  Ed.  There  was  something  in  his  son's  tone 
he  had  not  heard  before. 

"I  hope — hope  you  don't  think — I'm — I'm  indiffer- 
ent to  Robert's  death,"  he  stammered. 

"No — no,"  Ed  cried,  and  stamped  his  foot.  "But 
are  you  indifferent  to  the  way  he  met  his  death? 
Don't  you  feel  it's  horrible  to  make  things  which  blow, 
men — your  own  son — to  pieces?" 

"But,  Ed — surely — you  don't  think  I  made  the 
Shell  that—" 

His  son  swept  his  hand  swiftly  in  a  gesture  of 
disgust. 

"Oh!"  he  gasped. 

"I  felt  his  death  at  the  time  as  much  as  any  of  you 
'did." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  believe  you,  dad.  But  that  is  not  the 
point.  You  felt  his  death,  but  you  go  on  making 
shells  and  coining  money  at  it.  It  is  detestable — • 
loathsome !  Now,  if  you  can't  give  up  your  trade  you 
must  give  up  coming  here — reminding  us  by  your 
presence  of  all  the  things  which  have  caused  us  so 
much  suffering.  The  girls  won't  put  up  with  you  any 
longer.  I'm  very  sorry — really.  If  it  weren't  for 
them  I  might  stand  it." 

His  father  shrank  into  the  chair,  and  his  head 
dropped  slowly  down  on  his  chest.  Ed  knew  he 
suffered  much  more  than  his  father  did. 

"You  mean  the  girls  don't  want  to  see  me?"  he 
mumbled. 

"I  do.     You  ought  to  think  of  their  feelings  and 


350  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

keep  away.  You  know  Clarice  lost  her  brother  a 
little  while  ago.  Then  Evelyn — well,  her  loss  has 
never  been  appreciated  by  you — never.  Herbert  might 
have  been  a  criminal  for  all  you  cared.  Ellen !  Well, 
as  for  Ellen,  you  seem  to  think  she  is  a  sentimental 
fool  married  to  a  crank.  Now,  your  attitude  is  not 
fair.  It  denies  our  right  to  think  for  ourselves.  Any- 
way, we're  young — think  what  you  like  of  our  ideas — 
and  we  have  our  lives  to  live.  You're  old,  dad. 
Very,  very  old — as  old  as  war — and  beyond  change. 
It  is  your  war,  your  old  man's  war,  that  has  made 
Us  what  we  are,  and  we  mean  to  try  other  methods — 
methods  you  dare  not  attempt." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Ed,"  his  father  murmured. 
"Quite  right.  I  don't  blame  you.  Still  it  is  a  pity 
you  can't  see  we  have  to  live  in  a  very  practical 
world  and  that  a  man  in  my  position — " 

"Yes,  yes — but  don't  let's  go  into  that  again." 

Sir  Alfred  looked  at  his  watch. 

"There's  a  train  at  twelve  forty-seven.  I  think  I 
ought  to  go  up  to  town  just  to  see  what  they're  doing. 
You  might  drive  me  over  to  Crowington  if  you  have 
time." 

"All  right." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  motor  struck  the  trap  just  behind  the  left 
wheel  and  the  chestnut  swerved,  then  stumbled  on 
the  cobble-stones  in  the  gutter.  It  was  done  in  a  few 
seconds.  Ed  tried  to  save  his  father  and  at  the  same 
time  hold  the  chestnut  up  when  she  swerved.  For  a 
moment  he  felt  keenly  the  loss  of  his  right  hand. 

Sir  Alfred  shot  out  of  the  trap,  clear  of  the  wheel 
and  fell  on  his  shoulder,  so  Babbicombe  said.  He 
saw  it  all,  for  he  was  dressing  his  shop  window  when 
he  noticed  Ed  drive  round  the  corner. 

The  yard  of  the  Bear  Inn  was  in  an  awkward  place 
for  traffic.  Four  roads  met  at  that  point ;  and  though 
danger  signals  and  warnings  enough  were  shown,  the 
gate  of  the  inn  yard  was  not  easily  seen.  Harold 
swore  he  tooted  his  horn  before  he  started  out  of  the 
yard  with  the  car.  Whether  he  did  so  or  not,  there 
was  no  excuse  for  leaving  the  yard  at  such  a  pace; 
he  was  into  the  trap  and  smashed  its  wheel  "in  half 
a  jiffy,"  Babbicombe  said. 

They  raised  Sir  Alfred  and  carried  him  into  the 
Bear.  He  was  very  badly  shaken  and  scratched. 
Doctor  Raymond  put  him  to  bed. 

"How  is  he,  Ed?"  Harold  asked. 

"A  bit  knocked,  but  no  bones  broken,"  his  brother 
replied.  "Mighty  narrow  shave." 

"Should  I  go  up-stairs  and  see  him?" 

"I  wouldn't.    Leave  him  alone  for  a  bit." 

Sir  Alfred  saw  Harold  driving  the  car  before  it 

351 


352     .       A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

struck  the  trap.  "Harold,  you  fool,"  he  shouted,  and 
the  next  moment  he  shot  out  on  to  the  street.  Ed 
tried  to  excuse  his  brother's  fault,  but  his  father,  who 
never  lost  consciousness,  would  not  listen. 

"Mad,  Ed,"  he  mumbled.  "He's  cracked.. Never 

could — steer  a  car.  No  business — to — to — try.  Oh, 
my  head!  Where  is — Raymond?  I  know — I'm  done 
for,  you  see." 

They  had  given  him  brandy,  and  Ed  had  washed 
his  face  and  hands.  He  was  in  great  pain.  ' 

"Don't  let  him — up,"  he  moaned.  "Harold — a 
parson." 

"Dad,  would  you  like  me  to  send  for  mother  ?" 

"Eh?    Mother,  Ed?" 

"Yes,  would  you?" 

"No,  don't.  Not  yet.  She's  got  her  hands  full.  No 
need  to  alarm  her.  Wait  till — Raymond  comes." 

The  doctor  said  there  was  no  cause  for  anxiety. 
Sir  Alfred  was  bruised  and  in  pain,  but  rest  and 
quiet  would  set  him  right  in  a  few  days. 

He  lay  at  the  Bear  for  three  weeks,  then  the  doc- 
tor, who  visited  him  every  day,  became  so  anxious 
that  he  sent  to  London  for  Sir  Mortimer  Grantley. 
The  great  specialist  ordered  Sir  Alfred  to  be  removed 
to  Wilmslow. 

"He's  despondent — worrying  about  something,"  Sir 
Mortimer  said  to  Ed.  "He  is  out  of  pain,  and  there's 
not  much  physically  the  matter  with  him.  Get  him 
out  of  this  place  and  make  him  cheerful." 

At  Wilmslow  he  was  brighter.  The  girls  put  all 
their  prejudices  aside  and  tried  to  make  him  happy. 
Lady  Horton-Birkett  was  sent  for  when  Doctor  Ray- 
mond decided  to  call  Sir  Mortimer  from  town.  Ed 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  353 

had  been  placed  in  a  difficult  position,  not  Knowing 
what  differences  lay  between  his  mother  and  father. 
Ellen  was  all  for  letting  her  mother  know  at  once,  but 
Ed  decided  to  wait  until  his  father  asked  to  see  her. 

"I've  wired  for  mother,"  Ellen  said  to  Ed,  the 
evening  after  Raymond  told  them  he  would  call  the 
specialist. 

"I  s'pose  it's  right,  little  'un." 

"Mother  has  to  be  considered,  Roman  or  no 
Roman." 

"But  you  know  what  he  is." 

"Yes,  I  know,  Ed.   Blame  me." 

They  were  surprised  to  find  their  mother  and 
father  friendlier  than  they  had  ever  known  them  to  be. 
She  tended  him,  slept  near  him,  read  to  him,  indeed, 
she  scarcely  ever  left  him.  Some  miracle  had  taken 
place. 

The  day  Leverton  came  to  Wilmslow,  Ellen  thought 
her  mother  looked  happier  than  ever  before.  There 
was  much  curiosity  in  their  minds.  Why  the  great 
solicitor  should  come  down  when  their  father  was  out 
of  danger  and  speedily  getting  better  and  brighter 
they  could  not  guess.  Something  about  his  will,  Ed 
thought.  At  lunch  their  mother  dropped  no  hint. 
Xeverton  and  Sir  Alfred  lunched  up-stairs. 

Toward  evening  when  Leverton  had  gone^  Lady 
Horton-Birkett  called  them  together,  and  said: 

"Dad  has  given  it  up." 

"Given  what  up  ?"  Evelyn  asked. 

"The  shell  business." 

"Good!"    Ed  cried. 

"Yes,  ray  boy,  he  has  told  Leverton  to  get  rid  of 
all  his  interests  in  munitions,"  she  said.  "He  will 


354  ft!  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

pnly  keep  the  old  business,  Meek  Brothers  at  Wap- 
ping." 

"Mother,  you  are  a  wonder,"  Ellen  exclaimed,  and 
threw  her  arms  around  her  neck. 

"But  how  did  you  manage  it?"  Evelyn  asked. 

"Well,  I  think  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do  it 
before  I  came  back.  He  told  me  he  had  thought  it 
over  while  he  was  lying  at  the  Bear.  He  deserves  all 
the  credit — really.  I  didn't  have  to  coax  him  at  all." 

The  interview  Ed  had  with  his  father  later  that 
evening  was  peculiar,  inasmuch  as  Ed  found  no  great 
satisfaction  in  what  his  father  had  done,  and  Sir 
Alfred  seemed  to  be  laboring  under  the  delusion  he 
had  carried  out  his  son's  wishes. 

"I'm  out  of  it,  rid  of  the  whole  business,"  Sir 
Alfred  said,  washing  his  hands  with  imaginary  soap. 
"What  a  relief!" 

"You're  going  to  sell?" 

"Everything.  Leverton  says  it  can  be  fixed  up 
easily." 

"And  the  money,"  Ed  interjected.  "What  will  you 
do  with  the  money?" 

"Lots  of  things.  Give  it  away — mostly  to  my 
denomination.  Good  mind  to  build  a  really  fine  non- 
conformist chapel  on  the  estate.  Your  mother  and  I 
will  probably  take  a  small  place  in  North  Wales. 
Confound  these  county  folk  here.  It  would  serve 
them  right  if  I  did  put  a  dissenting  chapel — chapel  ?  a 
cathedral — right  under  their  noses.  By  George,  I'll 
do  it,  Ed." 

"So  it  will  all  go  to  chapels,  eh?" 

"Not  all.  A  memorial  hospital.  I've  been  thinking 
about  that.  You  put  it  into  my  head.  Something  on 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  355 

a  big  scale — properly  endowed.  I've  made  a  lot  of 
suggestions  to  Leverton — oh,  lots.  After  a  bit  I'll  go 
Up  to  town  for  a  few  days  and  begin  something. 
Anyway,  whatever  I  do  with  the  money,  I've  got  rid 
of  the  business.  No  more  of  that.  And  apart  from 
sentiment,  Ed,  I  think  the  time's  ripe  to  get  out. 
There'll  be  a  crash  one  of  these  days.  The  conscrip- 
tjonists  are  going  a  bit  too  far." 

All  were  at  the  table  the  following  Sunday  but 
Fred  and  Harold.  The  latter  had  left  Crowington 
for  good.  His  father  kept  his  word,  and  pensioned 
Harold  off  with  one  thousand  pounds  a  year.  Their 
last  interview  was  a  painful  one;  it  was  the  only 
circumstance  which  marred  the  effect  of  Sir  Alfred's 
withdrawal  from  business.  Harold  certainly  was  to 
blame  for  the  heat  and  temper  at  that  meeting.  His 
father  was  inclined  to  be  mild  and  generous,  but  the 
vicar  was  extremely  bitter  and  said  many  unkind 
things.  Their  religious  differences  were  wide  and 
deep,  so  much  so,  that  Harold  woke  in  his  sire  all 
the  burning  zeal  of  his  youth  for  disendowment  and 
disestablishment. 

Ben  was  down  for  the  week-end,  glad  to  get 
away  from  London  for  a  few  hours.  The  conver- 
sation at  dinner  was  brighter  than  they  had  known 
it  for  a  long  time.  They  talked  of  the  future,  re- 
construction, the  Britain  of  the  days  to  come. 

"I  have  faith,  Ben,  in  our  people,"  Lady  Horton- 
Birkett  said.  "The  spiritual  gain  will  help  enor- 
mously. I  see  it  everywhere.  In  the  hospitals  it  is 
the  most  noticeable  thing  in  the  wounded.  They  have 
been  changed." 


356  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"So  I've  heard,"  Ben  observed.  "Yet  I  see  little 
spiritual  change  in  the  vast  majority  of  the  people. 
But  there  is  a  change  I  admit,  too  deep  perhaps  for 
expression  just  now.  I  don't  refer  to  people  who 
have  always  thought  as  we  do."  He  looked  at  his 
wife,  and  gave  her  a  significant  nod.  "The  change 
in  the  majority  of  the  people  will  be  revealed  when 
the  war  comes  to  an  end.  There  must  be  time  for 
reflection." 

"Those  who  are  shouting  loudest  just  now  to  all 
the  dogs  of  war  may  be  the  first  to  cry,  'No  more 
war/  when  the  end  comes,"  Ellen  remarked. 

"Oh,  probably,"  Sir  Alfred  put  in,  with  a  pecu- 
liar shrug,  as  if  the  concession  were  made  reluc- 
tantly. 

"The  return  of  the  men  from  the  front  will  act 
like  leaven  on  the  mass,"  Ben  explained. 

"That's  it,"  Ed  agreed.     "You're  right,  Ben." 

"Then  the  women,"  Evelyn  exclaimed.  "I  look  to 
the  women  to  do  a  lot  of  good." 

"Ben,  are  the  women  determined?"    Ellen  asked. 

"Rather,"  he  replied.  "Don't  worry  about  the 
women.  They  will  be  there,  you  see!" 

"Good.  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  Lady  Horton- 
Birkett  muttered. 

"But  the  soldiers — most  of  them  young — will  tell 
the  true  story  of  war  when  they  know  they  are  not 
merely  home  on  furlough — that  they  are  home  for 
a  season  of  peace.  Then  those  who  have  not  seen 
war  will  learn  something  about  it  from  those  who 
have  really  been  in  it." 

"So  you  think  the  future  is  not  so  black  as  some, 
of  the  papers  paint  it?"  Sir  Alfred  inquired. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  357 

"The  near  future  is  pretty  black,"  Ben  mused. 
"The  transition  stage  will  be  dark.  But  we  shall 
come  out  of  it  all  right." 

"It  will  take  a  long  time  to  get  back  to  the  posi- 
tion you  were  in  in  the  spring  of  1914,"  Ellen  said. 
"You  must  restore  freedom  of  speech  and  free  the 
press.  All  the  other  old  liberties  of  pre-war  days 
must  be  reestablished.  The  mass  will  demand  free- 
dom of  trade,  and  trade  unionists  will  want  their 
rules  restored  to  them." 

"Yet,  though  all  these  tilings  be  done,"  said  Ben,  "I 
don't  see  how  any  spiritual  change  in  the  majority  of 
individuals  is  going  to  usher  in  the  millennium.  We're 
party  politicians ;  our  divisions  are  deep,  fundamental. 
The  war  has  made  them  deeper — any  one  with  half  an 
eye  can  see  that." 

"Right,  Ben,  right,"  Sir  Alfred  nodded.  "There 
is  no  Liberal  party  now.  Besides,  you  can't  under 
this  electoral  system  get  a  Liberal  majority  in  the 
House  unless  the  Whig,  Liberal,  Radical,  Labor, 
Fabian,  Socialist  and  Nationalist  parties  pull  pretty 
well  together." 

"Most  of  them  are  now  fighting  among  them- 
selves," Ellen  said.  "When  they're  not  fighting  one 
another.  Then  they  have  no  policy." 

"No,  the  Tories  have  the  policy,"  Ben  asserted. 
"A  very  definite  one.  They  know  what  they  want 
and  they  stand  together  to  get  it.  Protection  and 
conscription.  They're  out  for  a  full-blooded  Prus- 
sian system.  Still  the  women  may  upset  their  little 
game.  Their  demands  may  claim  first  attention  after 
the  war.  The  sex  problem  is  here  now  to  stay.  My 
only  fear  is  the  women  may  be  satisfied  with  little." 


358  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

"They  won't  be  such  precious  fools,"  Evelyn  ex- 
claimed. 

"Well,  there's  something  else,  too,"  Ed  said. 
"You've  forgotten  the  sacrifice  when  you're  thinking 
of  spiritual  gain,  don't  forget  the  sacrifice — that 
can't  be  ignored  by  any  political  party.  An  enlist- 
ment of  six  millions  and  a  half.  Six  millions  and  a 
half  volunteers.  Volunteers,  mind  you.  That  was 
done  before  the  Conscription  Bill  was  passed.  Think 
of  the  millions  of  men  gone  to  fight  other  people's 
battles.  There  never  was  in  the  history  of  the  world 
a  sacrifice  so  disinterested  so  magnificently  rendered. 
The  British  people — humbugged,  misled,  hoodwinked 
and  maligned,  have  shown  to  the  world  that  they, 
with  all  their  faults,  all  the  quarreling  among 
themselves,  have  the  biggest  notion  of  what  fighting 
for  liberty  means.  Their  sacrifice  has  been  made, 
remember,  without  an  enemy  soldier  setting  foot  on 
their  soil.  Their  sacrifice  in  blood,  tradition  and  gold 
must  be  recognized  by  their  rulers — they  daren't 
ignore  it" 

It  was  April  when  Sir  Alfred  went  off  to  London 
with  his  wife.  They  lived  quietly  in  a  hotel  in  West 
Kensington.  He  went  to  the  House  for  an  hour  or 
two  every  afternoon.  Another  political  crisis  was  rag- 
ing. But  the  old  interest  in  party  struggles  was  gone. 
Everything  was  changed:  men,  issues  and  parties. 
The  plans  of  getting  rid  of  his  money  occupied  his 
attention,  and  he  spent  many  hours  with  Leverton 
each  day. 

"Evie,  dear,  it's  like  another  honeymoon,  isn't  it?" 
he  said  to  his  wife  one  night  at  dinner. 


A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE  359 

"You're  happy  now,  Alfred?" 

"Very." 

"Have  you  settled  anything  with  Leverton  yet?" 

"Nothing  really  settled,  my  love.  In  a  day  or  two 
I'll  get  him  to  draw  up  another  will,  and  then  we'll 
go  down  to  Colwyn." 

The  next  day  he  stayed  with  Leverton  at  his  office 
late.  There  had  been  a  meeting  of  the  heads  of  his 
denomination  to  discuss  ways  and  means  of  dispos- 
ing of  that  part  of  his  money  which  the  organization 
should  enjoy.  It  was  nearly  ten  when  he  reached 
the  street.  He  had  telephoned  to  his  wife  saying  he 
would  not  be  back  for  dinner. 

He  hailed  a  taxi,  and  stood  on  the  curb  humming 
an  old  Methodist  hymn  tune.  Some  lines  of  John 
Addington  Symonds  came  into  his  mind.  "These 
things  shall  be,"  etc.  He  gave  an  address  in  Wapping 
to  the  chauffeur,  and  was  whirled  away  to  the  east. 
How  strange,  he  thought,  he  should  wish  to  go  down 
and  see  the  old  place  where  he  began  his  commercial 
career.  He  had  not  been  there  for  many  years. 
Meek  Brothers,  Chandlers?  Since  that  firm  was 
founded  what  changes  had  taken  place.  From  wood- 
en ships  to  iron,  from  iron  to  steel,  from  steel  to 
steam,  from  steam  to  oil.  Air-ships,  wireless  teleg- 
raphy, submarines  and  machine  guns!  Then  the 
typewriter  and  the  dictaphone!  So  some  inventions 
of  the  century  came  to  his  mind. 

The  old  office  where  he  worked  as  a  youth  still 
Stood  in  the  yard,  but  another  building  erected  nearly 
thirty  years  ago  hid  it  from  the  road.  How  silent 
the  place  was.  There  seemed  to  be  no  one  about.  The 
night  was  so  fine  he  could  see  the  masts  of  ships 


360  A  STRONG  MAN'S  HOUSE 

some  distance  off.  He  thought  he  would  knock  for 
the  watchman  and  ask  him  to  let  him  look  over  the 
place.  A  queer  feeling  of  affection  for  the  old  place 
crept  into  his  heart.  He  dismissed  the  taxi  and  rang 
the  bell.  He  waited  for  some  time  and  rang  again. 
"He  must  be  on  his  rounds,"  he  muttered. 

Waiting  at  the  door  of  the  new  building  he  did  not 
notice  bright  flashes  of  light  searching  the  heavens. 
'He  heard  an  explosion  which  made  his  flesh  creep. 
It  seemed — a  long — way — off.  He  looked  up,  and 
through  the  narrow  slit  of  a  street  he  saw  the  search- 
lights sweeping  backward  and  forward  above  the 
roofs.  He  had  never  seen  a  Zeppelin.  Instantly  he 
was  all  curious,  and  rushed  into  the  middle  of  the 
road  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  it. 

The  bomb  that  killed  him  dropped  close  at  his 
feet.  It  made  a  huge  hole  in  the  street,  and  tore  up 
the  granite  sets  and  paving  stones  as  if  they  were 
pebbles.  Sir  Alfred  was  wiped  out,  and  the  wreck- 
age of  his  building  and  the  high  wall  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street  was  strewn  all  about  over  a  space 
of  fifty  yards  or  more. 

Of  him  there  was  no  remnant  left. 

THE   END 


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